


The Space Between You and Me

by anyothergirl415



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-28
Updated: 2009-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The raised voices of his father and brother wake him from, what was otherwise, a deep sleep. Rubbing at his right eye with the heel of his hand, Sam pushes up to sit on the edge of the mattress and groans. Every muscle of his body aches from the six foot seven, three hundred and twenty pound possessed man that had tackled him that afternoon. It’s his own fault; he’d followed Dean and his Dad to the abandoned warehouse – even though he’d been instructed to stay behind at the hotel._

 _It had only been for research purposes, after all he was almost fifteen and it was only a matter of time before they could no longer use the excuse of him being too young and frail to join them on hunts._

 _Sam doesn’t have to press against the door to know what the argument is about – him – but he does because the day’s events have clearly given Dean more ammo and new protests. The wood is cool and rough against his ear and not nearly thick enough to muffle the harsh words exchanged._

 _“- could have been killed! This isn’t the life for him.”_

 _“Sam is old enough to handle himself Dean. I’ve taught him everything I know and you’ve been training him for years. Hell Dean, you weren’t even ten on your first hunt. I’m not gonna be here all the time, neither are you, Sam needs to know how to take care of himself and he’ll only learn by getting out there.”_

 _“This shouldn’t even be his life. He deserves better than this! We both do,” Dean sighs and Sam holds his breath. Their arguments always reach this point – where Dean crosses that invisible line into questioning their Dad’s fathering skills and the conversation veers off in one of two directions. Sometimes the man sighs in return and a long silence stretches until curiosity gets the best of Sam and he pulls the door open just enough to peek out and find the two hugging tightly, their Dad whispering something Sam can never make out. Other times their Dad flares at the remark and things escalate until one of them storms out, slamming the door so hard behind him that the entire building shakes._

 _Tonight turns out to be the latter._

 _“Damnit Dean, I’ve had about enough of this. I fed you both; I provided you a place to lay your heads each night. And maybe I wasn’t there all the time but I’ve taught you how to survive in this world and that’s a lot more than a lot of fathers would do so you better knock this shit off and start showing me some respect.”_

 _“Respect? You want respect?” Dean’s voice quivers with anger boiling under the surface and Sam exhales the breath he’d still been holding in fear. He never likes when the things take this turn, always fears something might be said that can’t be changed. “You’re fucking outrageous you know that right? We could have had a normal life. No one made you obsess over this supernatural shit. Mom fucking died and all you did was leave us in hotel room after hotel room, we might as well have been orphans!”_

 _Sam sucks in a sharp breath, doesn’t need to open the door to know his Dad has to be glowering with anger. It’s the line Dean’s been hovering much too close to for years and the words hang in the air like the smell of rotten eggs that makes Sam’s stomach churn._

 _“Get out.”_

 _It’s so quiet Sam has to press more firmly to the wood to ensure he heard it right. “What?” Dean’s whisper is close to a hiss._

 _“I said, get out. Get the hell out of here. Now.”_

 _“Fine!” Dean snaps and glass shatters._

 _“I said go!”_

 _“I’m getting my shit. And I’m saying goodbye to Sammy.”_

 _Sam scurries back before the door is shoved open, the light switch flipped on to cast a dull glow over creamy white walls. Tears are prickling along the rims of his eyes and he stares at Dean in shock. “You’re really leaving?”_

 _“Sammy… I’m sorry but I-,” Dean rubs the back of his neck in aggravation and takes a step forward, arm extended._

 _Sam recoils from the touch, slamming back against the wall with a trembling lower lip. “No,” he growls, spinning away so Dean can’t see the tears carving down his cheeks. “You wanna go. Fine. I don’t care. You just go.”_

 _“Come on Sammy don’t be like this,” Dean takes another step forward and Sam spins to him in anger._

 _“You’re the one going. Well good riddance! I’m tired of being held back because of you. At least Dad will give me a chance to prove myself! So if you’re gonna go, then just… go!” He turns again to glare at the wall, trying not to listen to Dean gathering things around the room. He counts his own inhales, exhales, for several long minutes that blur together like his vision as tears gather force._

 _There’s the faintest, “Bye Sammy,” before the door clicks closed._

 _Sam’s heart lurches oddly inside him and he leans against the wall to slide down._

  
 ****Ten Years Later****

  
A low, heavy mist clings to the ground in wisps that part with each step he takes forward. Sam curves his index finger around the trigger of the pistol in his grip, slowly lifting his arms to take aim into the shadows. He spins to the right at the sound of a low growl and zeros in on a large black dog with glowing red eyes.

“Gotcha,” he whispers before unloading several rounds of rock salt into the animal, running forward in long strides to ensure he’s hit his mark. But the dog is gone when Sam reaches the spot it should have been and has just a split second to brace himself before large claws dig into his chest, sending him tumbling backwards onto solid ground.

Struggling to gain control of the situation he manages to land a hard kick into the dog’s rib cage, sending it flying several feet up into the air. Sam uses the few brief seconds to regain his footing, heading swiftly in the direction of the Impala and casting wary glances over his shoulder, finger still hovering over the trigger.

He doesn’t stop until he’s sliding into the driver’s seat and locking the door, hands shaking just slightly. There’s not a lot Sam hasn’t seen, hell he’s even seen one of these black dogs before, but they’re one of the few creatures that are nigh impossible to defeat. His fingers itch to grab his cell phone and call his Dad, but he knows the man can’t offer any advice that hasn’t been tried and chances are the man won’t answer anyway.

Still he pulls the cell out and lights up the screen, flipping through the contacts until the marker rests on an entry that’s painfully familiar. Just reading his brother’s name makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably tight in his chest. His thumb hovers over the send button, like it has so many times since he’d found the number over six months ago.

“Jesus,” he growls, throwing the phone into the passenger seat and jamming the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life and he mentally curses everything. “Fucking Dean,” he spits and shifts the car into gear; spinning the wheels on gravel before speeding down the deserted two lane highway.

*

Dean watches the bag of popcorn spin in slow circles under the rays of the microwave, slowly inflating as the kernels begin a steady _pop, pop, pop._ He pulls his attention away from the machine with a shake of his head, a little unnerved at the way it seemingly hypnotized him. Pulling open the fridge he retrieves a beer and uncaps the top, leaning against the counter as the neon green numbers continue their countdown.

Inevitably his eyes are drawn to the small corkboard hanging along the side wall. Dean has spent far too many hours standing in this spot, gazing at the images of a boy he hasn’t seen or spoken to in ten years. Calloused fingers reach out to stroke along the small selection of pictures. Sam’s smile is bright and wide in a way that’s completely unique to him. No one has a smile like Sammy’s. Then again all of his brother’s emotions tended towards the extreme, nothing ever done lightly.

He had always envied his brother that, had never felt capable of smiling with all his being, or letting one feeling rule his heart and mind. Dean is well versed in holding back, burying thoughts and feelings, it’s a trait he’d picked up from his father. And though he doesn’t really remember his mother – just bits and pieces here and there – he assumes Sam’s abundance of emotions comes from her.

The microwave chimes loudly and he jerks his hand back from the images he’s been absentmindedly caressing. He blinks a few times at the picture of him and his brother, arms thrown around each other, standing in front of a rundown motel in a city he can’t remember the name of. It takes more energy than it probably should to force himself to turn from the board and step toward the microwave.

A few random kernels continue to pop as Dean pulls the bag from the microwave. He snatches up the opened beer and heads to the living room to flop down into the large arm chair in front of the TV. He considers the screen for a few moments, tries to determine whether the show playing is one he’d be interesting in actually watching, but gives up when a pair of trendy clothed teenagers start yelling at each other.

Flicking off the TV he snatches his cell phone from the table on his left, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Taking a long pull from the beer bottle while flipping through the address book he finds the desired contact and hits send.

The line rings as he presses the device to his ear, swallowing just as a man answers with a gruff, “What?”

“It’s a wonder anyone ever calls you,” Dean chuckles and sips from the bottle in his grip.

“Well I’ll be damned, Dean Winchester,” Bobby whistles low across the line and Dean can hear the distinct metallic slides of a pistol being cleaned. There are some things Dean will never forget, no matter how much time has passed, the way pieces of a gun snap and click when being taken apart or put together is one of them.

“Hey Bobby, I know, it’s been awhile. Couple of years?” He props the phone between his ear and shoulder, picks at the label of the beer bottle. “Still it’s not as long as…”

“No pretense then, huh? Just called to get the latest 411?” Bobby doesn’t sound angry but Dean feels just a little guilty for using him for a solely informational purpose.

“I want to know how you are too,” Dean insists then finishes his beer, pushing out of his chair to retrieve another one. He blinks in the sudden light from the opened fridge and vaguely wonders when the sun set and if popcorn can be considered a healthy dinner.

Bobby’s hesitation draws his attention back to the call and he’s about to question the silence before the man speaks, “I haven’t heard from your Dad in a long time son, I’m afraid I can’t provide you much info there.”

His heart lurches unpleasantly and he drops back into his arm chair heavily, “What about Sam?”

“Yeah. He called last week. Apparently got into a bit of situation with some black dogs-“

“What? Hell hounds? Why the hell is he taking on hell hounds?” This is another one of those things that will most likely never change; Dean’s desire to protect and shield his baby brother – even after their long extended silence – is his strongest driving force.

Bobby chuckles, “Dean, it’s what your brother does. Hunting? You know this and it’s not like you’re there stopping him.”

“Hey now,” Dean scowls and drains the beer bottle. Bobby doesn’t fill the silence, just waits for Dean to finish the argument. “It’s not that easy.”

“Most things aren’t,” the older man states and Dean knows it’s true, knows he could be the bigger man and call Sam but he’s not completely sure if he can handle the rejection that’s pretty likely to come at any attempted communication. “You’re brother misses you Dean.”

“Did he say that?” Dean’s heart lurches at the prospect and he pushes forward in the chair with a mixture of anticipation and excitement.

“Well, no. Not exactly,” Bobby’s voice is gentle and Dean deflates, falling back into the arm chair with a heavy sigh. “But it’s there. It’s the thing he’s not saying.”

“That’s the point right? He’s not saying it.”

“Dean, what do you expect? Your brother’s had a tough few years, he’s not gonna just come out and ask after you. He’s not the same kid you grew up with.”

It’s not the first time Dean’s heard Bobby say it – in fact it’s the very reason he’s gone so long without calling him, doesn’t want to here just how different his Sammy may be. “Bobby, you know I didn’t have a choice, it’s not like Da-”

“We’ve had this discussion far too many times,” Bobby cuts him off. “How’s life Dean? Work still going good?”

Dean would rather push the topic, doesn’t get to vent about the whole down fall of his family often, but accepts the forced topic change regardless. “Life is the same. Work is the same. Everything’s just…”

“The same?” Bobby chuckles again and Dean can once more hear the snap clicking of his pistol. “Still working at the auto shop?”

“Yeah, started doing some body art too. Yesterday I finished this whole dragon mural on some guy’s ’67 Dodge. Oh and I finally finished work on my GTO, replaced the engine and all the bands. Practically had to rebuild the whole thing but it was worth it. Runs like new. Gave it a fresh paint job, you’d be impressed. Of course it’s not the Impala but… Sammy’s still treatin’ her well right?”

“He loves that car,” Bobby confirms. “And outside of work? Got a girl?”

“No,” Dean replies shortly and pushes once more from his chair to get another beer. At this rate he’ll be drunk before he can even end the call. “Anything else new Bobby? Anything I should know about?”

“Same paranormal shit. Mighta heard a few rumors about something big on the horizon but it’s still too soon to tell.”

“Well you’ll give me a heads up of you find out about the impending end of the world, yeah?” Dean opts to cross through his living room and down the hallway to his room, tipping the bottle back to empty its contents. After setting the bottle on his dresser he falls face first onto his bed and groans. “I gotta go. Glad things are going okay. Would you…” He’d love to tell Bobby to say hi to Sam for him but he knows he won’t, knows Bobby doesn’t like to dig into old wounds.

“You should give him a call,” Bobby ends in his traditional way. “Take care of yourself Dean; don’t wait two years to check in this time okay?”

“Bye Bobby,” Dean mumbles into his pillow and tosses the phone haphazardly onto his nightstand.

*

“Good mornin’ handsome,” Ann holds out the large paper cup with a bright smile just as he pushes through the large glass door.

Dean grins at her, setting a five on the counter and reaching out to take the cup from her, “Mornin’ beautiful. You’re too good to me. Not sure how I could function without you.”

“Don’t inflate her ego too much Dean, I’m stuck with her all day,” Michele laughs, walking by with a large stack of napkins.

“Oh you’re just jealous that Dean doesn’t entrust you to make his coffee just right,” Ann sticks out her tongue in retort and Dean chuckles.

“Ladies, ladies, no need to bicker, there’s enough of me to go around,” he smirks as he raises the cup to his lips and takes a long sip. “Oh God Ann. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ann flushes at the compliment and reaches across the counter to slap him on the arm, “Dean Winchester, a girl can only take so much of your teasing. We all know I’m not your type.”

“Oh that and you’re _married_ ,” Michele adds on her return trip across the shop.

“Minor detail, easily negotiated,” Ann grins widely and once more reaches across the counter to tug on Dean’s sleeve. “How’d the date go last night?”

“Date?” Dean’s eyebrows curve up then scrunch together as he remembers. “Oh that. I canceled. Got too caught up with work, you know how it goes.”

“Dean, seriously,” she frowns, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You can’t keep having one night stands and expect to gain any long lasting satisfaction from it. One of these days you’re gonna wake up not so gorgeous and wish you’d found someone more permanent.” He considers her for a long moment until a round of giggles cracks her serious expression. “Oh who am I kidding, you’re always gonna be gorgeous. But come on, in the three years that I’ve known you I don’t think I’ve seen you have a relationship that lasted longer than two weeks, tops.”

He rubs a hand along the back of his neck as he listens to her, small frown turning his lips down, “It’s complicated Ann. You know I have-“

“A rocky past, yeah I know. You may have mentioned it once or twice,” Ann grins and pats his arm comfortingly.

“Now scram,” Michele smirks at him, leaning against Ann’s side and throwing an arm over her shoulder. “There’s this major hottie who’s come in here the last two mornings and I don’t want him thinking you’re attached to either of us in any way, just in case.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head, “Ann your coworker needs a lesson customer service.”

“Don’t I know it; have a good day at work honey!” She calls through laughter and Dean grins as he heads out of the coffee shop.

*

Sam runs long fingers through his hair, lap top tucked under his free arm as he makes his way down the sidewalk. His reaches out to curl fingers around the handle of the glass door to the coffee shop and pulls it open to step inside, inhaling the rich smell of brewing coffee. The two girls behind the counter – who are apparently chattering on about some cute guy – stop short and turn to him with wide, matching smiles.

“Good morning!” The shorter of the two slides forward to the register, “What can I get you?”

“Uh, how about a large vanilla mocha?” Sam grins and reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

“That’ll be three seventy five,” her grin stretches impossibly wider and she turns to her coworker. “Well Michele, you heard the boy, get him a large vanilla mocha.”

Sam hands her a five, tucking the wallet back into his pocket, “Hey have you ladies heard anything about those missing girls?”

“Oh that’s so creepy. Ann, tell him what you read,” Michele frowns and flips a switch on the machine in front of her.

“Well the newspaper said that all of them frequented the same places but didn’t know each other. It’s sadly ironic, they all crossed each other’s paths every day – maybe even more than once a day – and never even _knew_ ,” the other girl shudders and drops Sam’s change into his open fist.

Sam tilts his head slightly to the right and deposits the change into the tip jar, “Yeah, that is really ironic. Do you ladies mind if I stick around here for a bit? Use your wifi?”

“Not in the slightest,” both girls say in unison, laughing at each other as Michele slides the drink across the counter for him.

Sam thanks them with a nod and heads across the small shop to set up camp at a small table by the window, opening his laptop and powering on. It’s fairly easy to find the articles about the recent disappearances and he jots down useful tid bits that pop out as he goes along. There’s a wide selection of things that could be behind the events – even the possibility of a human doing this, though the thought makes him cringe – but something in Sam’s gut tells him that this is where he needs to be.

Two large mochas, and three hours later Sam rubs blearily at his eyes and closes the laptop with a snap. He stands and stretches with a loud groan, turning to smile shyly at the girls who are watching him with wide eyes. “You ladies wouldn’t happen to know a good mechanic around here would you? My car’s making the strangest rattling noise.”

“You want Jerry’s, three blocks down and a right on Bradshaw; you’ll see it on the right side. They’re the only place I trust with my car,” Ann grins and reaches into the small display case to the right and pulls out a large chocolate chip muffin. “You should probably eat something; I’m surprised the caffeine doesn’t have you shaking yet. And it’s on the house,” she giggles as he reaches for his wallet.

He grins and takes the offered item, “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

“Are you a reporter?” Michele asks, glancing curiously at his lap top.

“Oh… yeah,” Sam nods and runs a hand up through his hair. “Just covering the disappearances. Hopefully there won’t be anymore.”

Both girls shudder, “Hopefully.”

Sam gives them a final grin and a wave over his shoulder as he heads out onto the street.

*

Dean sorts through the paperwork on the desk in front of him, phone balancing between his ear and shoulder. “Yes I understand Mrs. Newton. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding on Danny’s part. I’ll be sure to let him know that you just want the oil change. No problem at all. Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

A long, annoyed sigh falls from his lips and he takes a moment to rub at the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. He’d started working at Jerry’s Auto Body shop seven years ago as just a basic mechanic. After a year of proving his knowledge about cars Jerry had steadily promoted him up the ladder.

Now Dean practically runs the shop, Jerry doing most of the books and paperwork from home. Dean enjoys the responsibility and freedom to make his own decisions. It’s not really his favorite thing to be in charge of his coworkers but for the most part he doesn’t have to intervene often so it’s not too bad.

“Danny…” he sighs as he steps into the main office and spots a wide variety of tools cluttering the main counter. “Typical,” he mutters and gathers them up into his arms, heading out through the side door to the garage.

Two steps into open space and a voice catches Dean’s attention looking up the tools fall from his grasp, clattering to the hard cement loudly. He inhales sharply, reaching out to grab hold of the side table and keep himself upright. His mind rapidly runs though all the reasons that the person standing there couldn’t possibly be his brother.

Then the man whispers, “Dean,” and all his reasoning flies out the window, along with his brain. So he stands and gapes at his brother like a fish out of water, like a bad cliché from a stupid movie and the only thing he can think to do is cross the garage in five long strides and wrap his arms tight around his Sammy.

It doesn’t bother him as much as it should that Sam stands stiff as board through the entire hug and when Dean steps back he has to blink water from his eyes and clear his throat before attempting words. “Damn you’ve grown. Never thought I’d be shorter then you.”

Sam blinks at him with wide hazel eyes for a long moment.

Danny looks between the two of them uneasily and finally clears his throat, “Uh… sorry Dean I didn’t know your-“

“He’s my brother,” Dean turns quickly towards him. “This is Sam, my brother.”

“Oh, you mean the one you haven’t seen for ten years?” Danny stares owlishly at Sam.

Dean has to bite back the urge to smack the guy on the back of the head. Sometimes Danny has no tact. “Why don’t you go finish up Mrs. Newton’s car? She only wants the oil change okay? No extras.”

Danny nods, casting a last glance between the two before darting off across the garage.

Dean watches him go for a beat then turns back to Sam. He’s imagined this moment so many times before, but it had always been him finding Sam. The fact that Sam had found _him_ was too much for his mind to really process. He grins widely as he steps forward and lays a hand on Sam’s arm, “God Sammy… how did you find me?”

This seems to kick start Sam’s mind and his face instantly tightens, lips pressing together in a thin line as he takes a step back out of his touch. “I didn’t find you. I came to get the Impala looked at. And it’s Sam, not Sammy.”

Dean recoils as if Sam had just slammed a fist into his gut, “Shit.”

Sam doesn’t soften, doesn’t apologize for being so cold, just folds his arms across his chest and takes another step back, “Had I known you were here I wouldn’t have come.” He turns and heads towards the car.

Shock ripples through him as he watches the taller man stride angrily toward the shiny black Impala waiting in the parking area. He almost lets his brother slide into the driver seat, but then his thoughts catch up with the moment and he hurries forward, arm extended. “Wait, Sammy. Sam. Sorry shit, don’t go. Just wait a second.”

“Why the fuck should I?” Sam whirls toward him and Dean skids to a halt a few steps back, just in case Sam decides to literally punch him. “I fucking _waited_ for you for years and nothing ever came of that so what makes this different?”

“I’m _here_ now,” Dean offers, the words sound pathetic even to his own ears.

“Great and that really fixes everything. Gee, it’s so great to have my big brother here with me _now_ when I need him most of all. Thank _God_ you’re here to make it all better.”

Dean’s overcome with a surge of anger and hurt and he can’t work his thoughts past this moment. From Sam’s words curling and biting at every part of his very being. “Sammy…” he breathes because it shouldn’t be like this, there shouldn’t be this cold hatred radiating from his brother.

“Not that it matters, because I have no desire to ever see you again, but don’t fucking call me Sammy ever again okay? Only my _brother_ calls me that.” With that Sam pulls open the car door and slides in.

The sound of the engine roaring to life only adds to the sting and then Sam is backing out of the garage and speeding off down the road. Leaving Dean standing in stunned silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

Dean stares at the hole in the wall that’s the perfect shape of his fist and several thoughts pass through his mind, one right on top of another. The burning of his hand, compared to the aching in his heart. Seeing the _hate_ in Sam’s eyes that trumps every other feeling and makes him want to crawl into a hole and _die_. He raises his fist to stare down at bloody knuckles, wondering if the damage is serious enough to require medical attention, wondering if he cares enough to even bother getting it looked at.

It’s almost impossible to describe how utterly _broken_ he fells at the image of his baby brother’s cold glare burning into the back of his mind, flashing like a knife in his gut every time he closes his eyes. It takes more energy than he has left to stagger out of the room to the bathroom and he collapses in front of the toilet, emptying his stomach of its meager contents.

When it seems there’s nothing left, he chokes on bile and falls back against the cold linoleum of the bathroom floor. Tears sting the corners of his eyes as he curls in on himself and sinks down into welcoming darkness.

Dean’s not sure how much time passes but he must have fallen asleep because when he next opens his eyes, blood is drying in a pool around his battered and broken hand. There’s also a shrill ringing coming from his bedroom and he uses his good hand to push up and half stumble, half run to his dresser where his cell phone is vibrating across the surface with each ring. He snatches it up without reading the caller ID and coughs a shaky, “hello,” in greeting.

“Dean? Are you alright?” The voice on the line is only distantly familiar and Dean scrunches his eyebrows in confusion, which causes a sharp tendril of pain to shoot through his head and he winces.

“Uh sure,” his throat is scratchy from the dry heaves of earlier and he slowly heads down the hall toward his kitchen to fetch a glass of water. “Who’s this?”

There’s a long moment of hesitation during which Dean realizes he should probably know the guy on the line, and he desperately racks his mind for a name. Nothing rises to the surface though and finally the man sighs loudly, “It’s Matthew. We met last week? You came over and-“

“Right,” Dean cuts him off, deciding to screw the water and pulling a beer from the fridge instead and twisting the cap off. “Sorry. I’ve had a rough day. Is there uh… something I can do for you?”

“You said you were going to call, and when you didn’t I thought I’d look you up…” Matthew trails off awkwardly, clearing his throat in attempt to cover the building tension.

The man is only a vague blur of a memory in Dean’s mind and he doesn’t really have the patience or desire to pretend to be interested. If it were any other day he’d consider being kinder with his let down but Matthew had the misfortune of choosing this day for an attempted reconnect. “Look Michael-“

“Matthew.”

“Matthew,” Dean flinched and drained his beer bottle before continuing. “I’m not interested in any sort of… I’m just a… it’s a one time thing okay? I don’t do repeats. Or whatever it is you’re looking for. I figured I made that pretty obvious.”

Dean allows two beats of silence to fill the crackle of air across the line before snapping his phone close and reaches out to open the fridge. Only this has him flexing the possibly shattered bones of his hand and he cries out in the sudden intense flash of pain.

After the ache dies down to a faint burn he turns to snatch the keys from the counter top. Obviously he wouldn’t be able to work in this condition. So with an annoyed sigh he heads out the front door to the hospital.

*

Sam’s fingers curl into the thick dark hair of the nameless girl bent over his lap. He stares out the windshield into the moonlit, empty street, barely feeling the tight heat of the girl’s mouth circling his cock. All he can think about is Dean’s built frame, so familiar and yet so different after all this time.

When he comes, the look of pain that had been on Dean’s face as he’d driven away – like Sam had just ripped out his heart – is all he can see. Even as the girl carefully tucks him back inside his jeans and he reaches into his pocket for a twenty – the warmth of Dean’s arms encasing him is all he can feel.

“Sure you don’t wanna go back to your place? Only fifty for the whole night,” the girl smacks her lips and slides the bill into the space between her breasts.

“That’s cheap,” Sam glances over at her and reaches out to twist the key in the ignition. “I’d rather not take my chances with discounted hookers.”

She scoffs loudly in response and curls her fingers around the door handle. “Asshole,” she grumbles, climbing out of the car.

Sam doesn’t bother responding, just reaches out to pull out the lever to on the headlights and shifts the car into drive. Every fiber of his being wants to push Dean back to the furthest parts of his mind – where he normally stashes any memory of his brother – but every street and building has him wondering if the man has walked here.

Part of him screams to drive back to the motel, pack up his things, and drive as far away from this city as he can possibly get. But the other part reaches an ignorable note – the part that wins out in the end – is the past ten years his father spent training him to never quit on a case, never leave things unfinished. So he pulls up to the motel and parks in the spot in front of his room, sighing heavily as he carries his laptop inside.

It’s almost a subconscious thing and he’s halfway through typing Dean’s name into the search engine before he even realizes he’s doing it. Hitting enter he’s surprised to find his brother’s address and phone number listed, as if he was just waiting to be found.

It occurs to Sam that he should have put two and two together earlier. He’s had Dean’s number in his phone for awhile and he realizes now that the area codes match up. Also his father sent him the coordinates to this city, which has him wondering if it was on purpose.

“Damnit,” he hisses, shoving a stack of resource books off the table. He considers his cell phone for a moment before scrolling through the contacts and dialing his father’s number.

“Sam?” The man answers and Sam sits up straighter in his seat. He didn’t anticipate his father actually answering, but assumed he’d be busy with a case and Sam would have the chance to rant about his annoyance to the voicemail.

“Dad, sorry. I didn’t expect you,” he clears his throat and hurries to continue when silence fills the line. “Did you send me here on purpose?”

“Yes. There are five missing girls with very suspicious circumstances. I sent you to figure out what’s doin’ it and take care of it,” there’s a distinct ring of irritation in his father’s tone of voice that Sam is all too familiar with.

Sam clears his throat and readjusts in his seat, eyebrows furrowing together, “So you had no idea whatsoever that Dean lives here?”

The silence that follows is thick and heavy and answers Sam’s question before his dad officially does. “You saw Dean? How is he?”

“How is he?” Sam repeats in disbelief, dragging a hand up through his hair. “Dad, he left m- he left us and disappeared for ten years. Do you seriously think I stopped to have a conversation with him?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that petty Sam. I raised you better than that, son.”

Sam hates when his Father makes passes about the way he acts. It’s one thing to critique his training, another to point out his personality flaws. So he chooses the smart path and ignores the comment completely, “You didn’t know then. You didn’t send me here in hopes that I’d reconnect with your long lost son.”

“I’ll never know how you got so cold,” John muses and sighs heavily across the line. “Of course I didn’t send you there for that. You’re brother hasn’t tried to contact me, and I’ve let that be.”

“But you knew he was here,” Sam rolls his eyes, growing increasingly more annoyed with every moment he spends speaking with his father. He’d do anything to please the man but when the subject shifted to Dean, he could only tolerate so much. Sam was sure that in his father’s eyes he could never compare to his oldest son.

John sighs after a long moment, admitting the truth, “You know I’ve always kept tabs on your brother’s whereabouts. But I didn’t send you there just for that. Those missing girls need your assistance.”

“Then you can come here and assist them,” he grumbles, pushing from up from his chair and falling down onto the stiff hotel bed face first. “I don’t want to deal with this shit.”

“Samuel,” the level of John’s voice didn’t rise but the crisp, short ring of his name had him spinning up off the bed. “You’ll work this case and take care of whatever’s harming these girls. If you’d rather not see your brother then you don’t. But we’re not having this conversation any longer, understand?”

“Yes sir,” Sam runs a hand through his hair and isn’t surprised when the line clicks dead in the next moment. He stares around the motel room for a long minute, trying to figure out how the careful balance he’s made of his life over the past ten years could shift so suddenly. This could be any motel room in any city – he’s definitely seen his fair share – only it’s not, it’s the one in the city where the brother who abandoned him so long ago now resides.

That part of Sam that’s still a fourteen year old kid, staring at the wall with watery eyes as he listens to his brother gathering his things, wants to show up at Dean’s door and aim a punch hard into the man’s gut. He knows it’s childish, knows he should just do as his Dad says – finish the case and leave without a word – but can’t help wondering if he’ll regret it later. Or whether he’ll cave and turn the car around less then a hundred miles outside of town and hunt his brother down, say the things he’s been keeping inside for so long.

Finally deciding it’s too late to do anything more tonight, he strips to his boxers and climbs between cool sheets. The sky outside is turning a faint grey before Sam’s eyes finally drift closed and he falls into an uneasy sleep.

*

“Dean! What happened to your hand?” Ann hurries around the counter, dropping her dish rag as she steps up to him. “What did you do to your hand?”

“Got into a fight with a wall,” Dean shrugs and shakes his head, giving Ann a brief smile. “Have my coffee ready?”

“Sure,” Ann nods and hesitantly heads back around the shop counter. “So what did the wall do to piss you off so much?”

Dean doesn’t want to go down this path with her – or anyone for that matter – and mentally kicks himself for telling the truth about his hand in the first place. It’s not like the woman would have known if he was lying. He’d simply gotten into the habit of being honest now that he didn’t have to hide every part of his life from people.

It takes Dean a few minutes to realize he’s drifted off into his thoughts and when he looks up Ann is watching him with concerned eyes. “Sorry,” he shakes his head and attempts a laugh. It sounds forced even to his own ears. “It’s just some family stuff.”

“Hey Dean,” Michele appears around the corner with a bright smile. “Did you fix that cute reporter’s car?”

“Cute reporter?” Dean arches a curious eyebrow and gratefully takes the cup Ann holds out to him.

“Yeah. Super tall, gorgeous brown hair, all long and wavy. Some deliciously handsome eyes too… hazel I think,” Michele giggles, bumping into Ann’s side playfully. “Hey what happened to your hand?”

“Sam?” Dean’s eyes widen with her words. “You sent him to me?”

“He punched a wall,” Ann speaks almost on top of his words.

“You punched a wall?” Michele frowns and turns from Dean to Ann and back again. “Why would you punch a wall? What did the wall do to you?”

“Sam,” he says again, setting the cup on the counter and using his good hand to rub along his face. “Did you send Sam to me?”

“We never got a name,” Ann shrugs. “But apparently you did. So is he… you know, interested? Did you two hit it off?”

Dean sighs and shakes his head, picking up the cup once more and taking a long drink that burns the inside of his mouth. He flinches as he swallows and coughs for several moments. When he finally catches his breath he looks up at the wide eyes of Ann and Michele and sighs again. “Sam’s my brother.”

They both inhale as if on cue and Dean instantly wishes he hadn’t said anything. He’s only mentioned Sam to them a few times in passing but the last time he’d come up in conversation had been his birthday the year before. Dean had spilled minor details – the terms he left on, how Sam’s eyes had filled with tears, the way he felt like he was betraying his family. Ever since then Ann and Michele gave him looks of pity whenever they thought he wasn’t looking.

“He’s your brother?” Ann repeats slowly, the concern returning to her eyes ten fold. “Oh god Dean, we had no idea…”

“Is that why you and the wall got into a fight?” Michele asks softly, biting her lip.

“Something like that,” Dean nods and takes a step back from the counter. “Listen… if he comes in here today, don’t mention me okay? Just pretend like you have no idea who he is. I’m not sure how long he’s gonna be in town and I’m trying to think of a way to get him to talk to me.”

“He won’t talk to you?” Ann frowns and shakes her head. “Maybe we should talk to him. We could tell him how amazing you are. How often you mention him. How important he still is to you.”

“Those are all things I have to say to him myself,” Dean insists and takes another step backwards. “I’ll see you ladies later.”

“Feel free to call if you need anything,” Michele calls out as Dean turns away from them and heads out of the shop, waving over his shoulder with his bandaged hand.

*

The creature is invisible. Which turns out to be the least of Sam’s problems in the long run. He watches from the shadows of a large oak tree as the body of one of the missing girls slowly stops its twitching – Emily he thinks, though her appearance is so distorted he can’t be sure. He’s just about to get closer to investigate when another body is dragged into the clearing.

No matter how hard he squints he can’t see the creature. But as he watches, a piece of flesh is pulled off the girl and hovers in mid air for a moment before slowly disappearing. This tells him that the creature is not only invisible, but appears to eat human flesh.

Sam’s stomach churns unpleasantly and he leaves the abandoned area to head back to his motel and do some serious research. Almost two hours later he comes up with the Gnarl, a creature he’s never heard of – which isn’t a surprise since the document declares there’s only been twenty reported instances of the thing in all history. How he found it at all surprises him.

As his luck would work, there’s no advice about killing it. The only warning the site provides is not to go alone because just one scrape from its long, curved finger nail paralyzes the victim. So for the second time in twenty four hours, Sam phones his father. It is more than he’s called him in the past six months. And once again – to his surprise – John answers.

“Damnit Sam, I’m not discussing this with you again,” his greeting comes with a groan and Sam can hear the distinct murmur of voices in the background.

“It’s not that,” Sam hurries to explain before his father can end the call. “I found the thing responsible for the missing girls. It’s called a Gnarl. Nasty thing. Invisible and able to paralyze with one cut. So I’m gonna need a second.”

John sighed and Sam already knew what was coming. “I’m sorry son. I’m caught up in a lot of shit up here. Can’t make it down.”

“Oh,” Sam tries hard to not let his disappointment show. He’d never admit it out loud, but anytime he’s come across an unknown creature, he’s found himself just a little scared. His gut tells him he wasn’t meant to live this life alone but there was no escaping it.

“You could always try Dean,” John offers just casually enough for Sam to want to question his sanity.

“I’ll call Bobby,” he says instead. “Thanks Dad. Bye.”

“Be safe,” John returns and the line clicks dead.

Sam stares at the phone for a long moment before shifting through the contacts to find Bobby’s number. This time there is no answer, just Bobby’s gruff voice coming over a recording. “I’m outta town for the next three weeks. Leave a message and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible.”

He contemplates leaving a message but doesn’t, just thumbs the phone off and tosses it on the bed in annoyance. If Bobby says he’s out of town then it’s unlikely he’ll be able to help Sam any time soon. And this is the type of situation Sam really can’t put off dealing with it.

Another sigh – something he seems to be doing a lot of recently – and he’s up off the bed, locking the motel door behind him and heading down the street to the coffee house. There are a few other hunter’s Sam’s met over the years and he considers the possibility of calling them. But then they’d likely call his father and he’s really not interested in having _that_ conversation.

The bell on the shop door rings as he pushes it open, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket, teeth worrying his lower lip.

“Well hey there, you’re just in time. We’re about to close,” the girl – Marie, Michele, he can’t quite remember – behind the counter calls cheerily, scrubbing a coffee mug in her hand with a white dish towel.

“Already?” Sam’s eyebrow arches up curiously, clearing his throat with the word.

The girl laughs and gestures to the clock to the right of her. “It’s almost nine. This is a small town, we shut down early. Plus I don’t know a lot of people who like to drink coffee real late. How goes the article?”

“Slow work,” Sam shrugs and attempts a smile, choosing to stare at the large chalk board that serves as a menu hung up on wall behind her.

“So you heard about the other missing girl? The one who disappeared this morning?” She frowns, pulling a medium size cup from the stack.

Sam’s eyebrows furrow together and a scowl turns his lips down. “Another? I didn’t hear about that… did you know her? Or has any information been released?”

“I don’t know her,” she shakes her head but says no more on the subject. “What can I get you to drink today?”

“Uh… you know what? I’m gonna pass. Sorry for wasting your time, I just have some stuff to take care of,” he doesn’t take any more time to explain more, just heads out the door and jogs back to his motel room to grab his keys and the address he’d scribbled down on a piece of paper the night before.

*

Dean throws pieces of popcorn at his TV in hopes the channel might change itself. He’s not sure where the remote is and he doesn’t care enough to push out of the recliner and find it. His hand aches from over use throughout the day but the three beers he’s already downed are helping slightly to dull the pain.

There’s a knock at his front door which is both surprising and annoying for the same reasons. Dean’s a fairly private person, doesn’t bring people back to his place – doesn’t have parties – because he likes his solitude. Likes to know he can come back to his own place of solitude and not have to deal with the world in any way.

The knock repeats a few minutes later when Dean fails to answer and he grumbles, yelling a loud, “coming, god, patience,” as he pushes himself up out of the recliner and stumbles to the door.

The absolute last thing he could possibly imagine seeing on the other side of his apartment door is his baby brother. Which is why he almost passes out when he finds himself looking up – oh god when did his brother get taller than him? His mouth opens and closes like a retarded fish and he can’t help wondering if his knees are going to keep him in a standing position.

“Dean,” Sam says with a nod, hands stuffed into the pockets of the tan jacket he’s wearing.

At some point Dean thinks he might find the ability to speak – might stop blinking at his brother like the man might disappear at any moment. But since that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon, he simply takes a step back, opening the door in his wake. It’s as much of an invitation as he’ll be able to get out and is definitely better than a hug. Considering how the last hug ended up.

Sam steps into the apartment, looking around with mild curiosity. Dean watches him, wondering what it must be like to see his world through his brother’s eyes. See the place Dean actually calls _home_. A flare of regret sparks up in him as he realizes Sam has never had a place like that.

“Beer?” He manages to croak out, surprising himself – and Sam as well, the man turning to him with raised eyebrows. “Want one?”

“Uh… sure,” Sam nods, clearly thrown by the offer, considering the way things had ended between them the day before.

Dean turns quickly and heads into the kitchen to tug open the fridge. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him and tries not to let the shake of his broken hand show when he turns to pass the frosty glass to his brother. “Here you go.”

“What happened to your hand?” Sam catches his wrist, pulling him close to inspect the bandaged digits.

Dean sucks in a sharp breath as he steps close enough to his brother to feel the heat of his body coming off him in waves. Sam smelled of shampoo and gun powder, which was an oddly deadly combination he’d never anticipated.

“Dean? What happened to your hand?” He repeats, eyes narrowing in annoyance when he fails to answer.

“I…” Dean clears his throat and pulls his hand back, stepping around the man to head into the living room. “I punched a wall. No big deal.”

“You punched a wall?” Sam watches him go with a shake of his head. “And you call that no big deal? Still the same Dean.”

“In some ways,” he shrugs, dropping into his recliner. He doesn’t invite his brother to join him but Sam does anyway, sinking into the couch across from him. “Why are you here Sam? I was under the impression that you had no interest in speaking to me.”

“I don’t. And if it wasn’t for this Gnarl then I wouldn’t be here,” Sam grumbles, sitting rigid on the couch, arms folded across his lap.

Dean arches an eyebrow and can’t help smirking slightly. “The Gnarl? Is that some sort of codeword for something?”

Sam glares at him for a moment before shaking his head and looking at the TV with disinterest. “Are you trying to be funny? Because it’s really not working.”

“God what the fuck Sam?” Dean pushes off the recliner and rounds on him with a hiss. “You’re the one who came here okay? So spare me this uptight bullshit and get on with whatever it is that you need from me.”

“What sort of righteous crap is this?” Sam rose to meet his words, arms flaring indignantly at his sides. “You left me. _You_ left _me_ ,” he used his index finger to enunciate each word, jabbing the digit so hard toward Dean he could almost feel the weight of it slam full force into his chest. “You have no right to be angry at me. For any reason.”

The last thing Dean really wants to do is fight with Sam. He wants to soak him in, stare at his face until the image is burned into the back of his retinas and he never forgets just how much he’s grown. He wants to sit down and hear every detail about the last ten years, be a shoulder for Sam to cry on, an ear for him to rant too. So he concedes, sighs deeply, and turns to face the wall. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry. What can I help you with?”

Sam inhales sharply and for a moment Dean tenses his shoulders, expecting another wave of anger to boil out of his brother’s lips. But the air leaves his chest in an audible whoosh and Dean can hear him sinking back down into the couch. “The Gnarl. It’s the thing responsible for the missing girls… there are several missing-“

“I know,” Dean cut him off, turning around again when he was confident he had complete control over his emotions. “Believe it or not I do still keep tabs on things. I couldn’t figure out…” he trails off, not wanting to say anything that might spark another argument or snide remark.

“Oh,” Sam’s head tilts curiously for a moment before he clears his throat and continues. “Anyway, I found the girls… did some research on the thing taking them. Turns out it’s a Gnarl, which is an invisible creature that can paralyze people with one cut. I’m not sure on how to kill it but I do know they advise you don’t go alone.”

“And you want me to help you?” Dean looks up, almost shocked to even consider it a possibility. Sam coming to ask him for help seemed almost unrealistic.

“Well Dad’s on a case and Bobby’s unavailable. I might have tried to call some other hunters but I just found out another girl went missing this morning. Anyone else would take too long. So yes, I want you to help me out. It’s really the least you can do.”

The older brother part of Dean – that will always hover just under the surface of his being – wants to throw Sam against the wall and land a punch hard into the side of his face. The logical part holds back on the urge and he slowly nods. “Alright. Fine. Just tell me what I can do.”

Sam watches him for a long minute, as if he’s waiting for Dean to take it back, to change his mind. Dean stares at his hands, hating that Sam can’t remember a time when Dean would have done anything for his little brother. “Alright. Good.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

“So follow my lead.”

“Sam.”

“Watch out for the left side.”

“Sam.”

“Don’t forget to throw the powder if you think it’s-“

“Sam!”

“What Dean? What?” Sam spins on him, arms flaring up with annoyance.

Dean watches the pistol in his hand fly up, flinching slightly as his finger tightens on the trigger just slightly, “I’ve done this before.” He rolls his eyes as the man’s forehead pulls together. Once upon a time Dean knew what every expression that crossed his brother face meant, now he can only hazard a guess as to what would to come next.

“Ten years ago,” Sam snaps, lips pursing together in a thin line. “Things change Dean, and the fact of the matter is, I’m better at this than you.”

Dean gapped at him like a fish, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an indignant teenager. “Alright, that’s fair, but you did already go over the plan three times at my place and twice in the car so… I think I’ve got it.”

Staring at him as if he were surprised Dean gave in so easily – which he probably was but this was hardly the time to have a fight, especially since it wasn’t only their lives in danger – Sam huffs a snort before continuing, “Fine. Just… yell my name if you need me.”

Snorting as he walks in the opposite direction of his brother, Dean rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath, “Yeah cause I was gonna yell for Santa Clause and see where that got me.”

The trees around him provide a fair amount of shadows to hide in and Dean looses sight of Sam, worry building in the pit of his stomach with every passing moment. He’d forgotten how much he hates this part, waiting for the creature to expose itself so they can attack. The heavy weight of the gun rests against his palm, cold and hauntingly familiar. For just a moment the life he once lived – the life he’d never intended to return to – slams back full force and he wants to drop the weapon and run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.

Then his brother is calling his name and he’s up, jumping over bushes – nearly tripping over a large root jutting out of the ground – and aiming down the barrel at the empty air around Sam. “Where is he Sam?”

“Ther-“ Sam manages to gasp before his body drops heavily to the ground.

“Shit,” Dean surges forward, trying to remember what to do now. After a moment he gives up and empties the clip into thin air until it connects with the creature. It drops to the ground and instantly becomes visible. Running over to ensure it’s dead, his eyes widen as he spots the bullet hole in the center of the creatures head. “Damn, look at that.”

“Dean!” Sam hollers, now that the creature is dead, the paralysis is gone and he pushes up from the ground and crosses quickly to his brother.

A triumphant grin paints Dean’s features and he gestures to the dead creature with the barrel of his gun. “Look at that shot Sam. Marksmen envy shots like that.”

“What the hell where you thinking? Did you forget about the powder? There could have been someone out here and you could have hit them!” Sam growls, shoving hard at Dean’s shoulder.

The color drains from Dean’s face and he stares at the place Sam’s hand had been seconds earlier. “A simple thank you would have sufficed.”

“Right, thank you for not killing anyone accidentally with your stupidity,” Sam spins from him and pushes through the forest in the direction the creature came from. “Come on. We have to find that girl, hopefully she’s still alive.”

Dean was frozen in his spot for a long moment, watching the retreating back of the man he could hardly believe was his brother. It felt as if someone had taken the puzzle that was his life and turned it upside down. Now Dean was left trying to straighten the pieces only Sam’s piece didn’t seem to fit anywhere.

“Are you coming?” Sam asks, halting in his steps and looking over his shoulder.

“Sure,” Dean swallows thickly and half jogs to catch up with him.

*

Five hours later and Dean’s past the point of exhaustion. They’d managed to locate the girl after a half hour of searching for the creature’s lair and fortunately she was still alive, though bleeding badly. Another half hour later and they were in the Impala, Dean cradling the unconscious woman in the back seat until they pulled up to the hospital. It had then been a blur of doctors and nurses, then policemen who wanted to know where they’d found her.

Dean had done most of the talking, since he did a good majority of the maintenance on the police vehicles and they all knew him. It was easy enough to explain that Sam was his brother visiting from out of town, that Dean had wanted to show him one of his favorite hiking trails and that they’d heard the girl screaming. He was even able to give them the location of the cave, though he’d explained that they found it empty except for the girl when they got there.

When they were finally allowed to leave, Dean could hardly keep his eyes open and he fell asleep against the passenger door on the drive back to his apartment, waking up to Sam shaking his shoulder softly. “Dean? We’re here.”

“What? Oh,” Dean looked out the window at the familiar building and turned to Sam slightly, hand curling around the door handle. “So… I guess you’ll be leaving now. Since the case is all wrapped up.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, tightening his fists on the steering wheel and staring out the windshield. “Though I still need to get a check up on the car. Not sure how long it’ll be before I stop again.”

With a slight frown Dean shrugs his shoulder in his best, would be casual way. “Why don’t you bring it by the shop tomorrow? Don’t have a lot on the schedule, could get her in and out pretty quickly and you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“I don’t think…” Sam sighs, falling into silence for a few minutes. Just long enough for Dean to think that’s all he’s going to get, and he’s pushing open the door, climbing out before Sam says softly. “Eight o’clock okay?”

“I’ll be there,” Dean nods and shuts the door, barely holding off the wince when Sam revs the engine to life and guns it down the street. When Dean gets inside the clock says it’s after three in the morning and he groans, knowing he’s not likely to get much sleep even if he had the chance to sleep in.

*

“It’s just a slight shaking of the steering wheel when I go faster then sixty,” Sam rocks forward a little on the balls of his feet, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he watches Dean lift the hood of the Impala and prop it open. “The alignment’s been a little off since the crash I had last year.”

“You were in a crash?” Dean’s eyes widen a little and he steps back to look at the front bumper. There are a few minor scratches but nothing too major and he looks up at Sam questioningly. “What did you hit?”

“A zombie,” Sam says in a serious tone.

Dean considers him for a long moment before letting his head fall back and laughing loudly in amusement. “A zombie? An honest to God zombie?”

“An honest to God zombie,” Sam confirms and chuckles, leaning back against the workbench and kicking one ankle over the other. “Some wanna be witch raised her ex lover and thought they could spend together forever. Only turns out the ex lover had spent the entirety of his life being verbally abused by his family so he decided to get some revenge. Was not a pretty thing.”

“No, doesn’t sound like it,” Dean shook his head, heart warming at the amusement dancing along his brother’s features. It was good to see an emotion cross his face that wasn’t negative and he wishes he could bask in it. But Sam’s smile fades after a minute of his continued gazing, and Dean turns to the car with a cough. “Well let me take a look, see what the damage is. You want to stick around? The office gets that wifi thing if you have your laptop.”

Sam glances over his shoulder at the large glass pane serving as a separator between the room and the garage, nodding for a moment before moving to the Impala and opening the back door to retrieve his laptop. “So this is your shop? I mean, the sign says Jerry’s but there’s not really anyone else…” Sam gestures to the empty area.

“Jerry’s the owner. I guess I’m more of the… manager?” Dean shrugs, leaning under the hood. “That basically translates to I do the physical work, run the things here, and he deals with the financial aspects. Best of both worlds if you ask me. And it’s Wednesday so only Danny’s coming in, ‘cept he’ll turn up around ten or so.”

“Do you like it?” Sam shifts the strap of his laptop case on his shoulder, going on when Dean pulls slightly back to look at him. “Working in a garage… I guess I’d never considered what you might do now… but this makes sense. So do you like it?”

Dean rubs his hands against his jeans, smearing grease along the denim. “Yeah. I do.” He nods and wets his lips, rubbing along his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s nice, having a steady job. I’ve worked here for seven years, lived in this town for about the same amount of time and it feels good.”

“You don’t get restless?” Sam asks as if he can’t fathom the idea of staying in one place for longer than a week.

With a soft chuckle Dean dips back under the hood, muffled voice answering a moment later. “Yeah, sometimes. But then I go fishing or on a weekend road trip, and the feeling’s gone. It’s nice to have a home, a life to come back too.”

“Must be,” Sam’s voice is cold once more and he turns from Dean and the Impala, crossing the garage in a few quick strides, before opening the office door and stepping inside.

Dean flinches at the sound of the door slamming shut. He knew the moment the words had left his mouth that he shouldn’t have said anything, at least not along this line. Being around Sam is like walking on eggshells, or however the saying goes, and Dean is nowhere near graceful enough for it.

*

“It looks like you have a balance problem. Probably happened when you hit…” Dean casts a quick look to Danny behind the counter and clears his throat. “Well anyway, the balance of your tires is way off. Good news is I can fix it without having to replace them, just have to use a spinning machine, find out where the heaviest part is and use a weight to make up the difference.”

“Great,” Sam looks genuinely relieved and cards a hand up through his hair. “So how long? How much?”

“Well uh, that’s the thing,” Dean shuffles his feet together and pulls the dark blue bandana from his back pocket, “The spinning machine’s been down for the past week, couldn’t schedule the appointment to get it fixed until tomorrow. I could try to replace your tires but I’ve only got one that will work for the Impala and there’s no sure way to know which tire would be the best to-“ He cut off as Sam continued to stare blankly at him.

“So what you’re saying is, my car won’t be ready until tomorrow?”

“Right. And don’t worry, I’ll only charge you for the weights, hardly anything at all,” Dean holds up his hand before Sam can protest. “Don’t worry, I’d cut the price for anyone, it should be a simple thing to fix and it’s our fault it can’t be done right away.”

Sam nods, gathering up his things. “Alright then I’ll come by tomorrow and pick it up.” He brushes past Dean and steps through the office door and out into the garage.

Dean lets him get halfway down the driveway before darting out the door and jogging after him. “Hey Sam? Do you have plans for dinner?”

Stopping and spinning around to face him, Sam smirks just slightly, “Oh yeah, big plans.”

With a snort Dean shook his head, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, “Do you want…” he cleared his throat, stopping and starting again. “Do you want to come by my place for dinner? I could make some steak, baked potatoes?”

“You can cook?” Sam arches a curious eyebrow.

“Best damn cook you’ll ever meet,” Dean scoffs and slips his hands into his back pocket. “So what do you say? I could swing by your motel and pick you up? Around seven?”

Sam considers the invitation quietly for a few moments and Dean tries not to get his hopes up. “Alright. Seven. I’m in room 118.”

Dean smiles and repeats, “Seven.” His eyes linger on Sam’s form as he goes, a flush crawling up his cheeks as his gaze shifts lower to watch the curve of Sam’s ass as he walks. A different sort of sinking feeling grows in the pity of his stomach and he turns back to the garage with a sigh.

*

Knocking on the door to Sam’s motel room makes him chuckle, like he’s about to go on some bizarre date with his estranged brother. Which is almost the truth although he’s sure Sam would be less than pleased to hear Dean refer to it as such. He’s still chuckling when Sam opens the door, though the noise shifts quickly to a cough as he takes in his brother’s shirtless chest. “Uh. Hi.”

“Come in,” Sam pulls the door back the rest of the way, leaving it open for Dean and crossing the room to his duffel bag. “Sorry, I was catching up on some sleep. Lost track of time.”

“Sleep is good,” Dean nods, remembering after a moment to step into the room and close the door behind him. He doesn’t like the way his heart rate has picked up, or how dry the inside of his mouth suddenly is. Clearing his throat, he forces his eyes from Sam’s chest and looks around the tackily decorated motel room. “Huh.”

“What?” Sam tugs a thin t-shirt over his head, combing his hand up through his hair.

Gesturing around the small room, Dean observes, “Could be any other motel room huh? In any other city?”

Sam fixes him with a steady gaze, surprisingly deep lines wrinkling the skin beside either eye. “Yeah. Could be. I’m ready.”

“Alright,” Dean turns and heads for the door, tugging it open and inhaling the cool night air sharply. It doesn’t make sense to him, why seeing his brother without a shirt seems to shake him to his center core, and he buries the thought for later reflection.

“A GTO?” Sam arches an eyebrow, watching Dean walk around to the driver’s side and pull open the door.

“Yeah? What’s wrong with that?” Dean meets his gaze, propping an arm on the roof of the car.

“It’s purple.” Sam states with a smirk.

“It’s dark blue.” Dean retorts, gesturing to the small light on the motel wall. “It’s just the light.”

“Dean, it’s totally purple.”

“Sam, it’s _totally_ dark blue,” he scoffs, dragging out the world in his best sixteen year old girl impression. “Now get in before I leave your ass and eat the steaks all by myself.” Dean slides into the driver’s seat, a slight grin tugging at his lips as he reaches across the seat to pull up the lock on the passenger door.

“I still say it’s purple,” Sam mutters before dropping into the seat.

*

Dean had gone home over his lunch and set the steaks out. He’d also spent some time cleaning, though he’d never admit it out loud. The night before Sam had come for one soul purpose so a mess was alright because he’d hardly noticed. Tonight though, Sam was likely to be more curious and Dean didn’t want him thinking he was a complete slob. Though why that should matter Dean wasn’t sure.

“Did you clean?” Sam asks the minute they step in side and, really? Dean should have figured his brother would notice something so lame.

“Yeah, got a hot date,” Dean snorts and heads into the kitchen where the steaks are waiting. “Beer?” he offers, pulling open the fridge and grabbing one for Sam and himself plus the plate of waiting meat. “Here, grab that door for me, got a mini grill thing out on the balcony,” Dean gestures toward the patio door with the beer his in hand, flexing his fingers when Sam takes the bottle.

Stepping out onto the balcony to make room for Dean, Sam looks around at the view of the city, tops of houses lit by lights pouring out windows. Dean considers his brother for a moment before setting the plate and his beer on the table and begins work on lighting up the grill. “When we were younger I use to make up stories about different families we’d see in their houses when we drove through towns.” Sam says softly, tipping his beer back to take a full swig.

“Oh yeah? What sort of stories?” Dean tries not to seem too interested in what Sam might have to say. The idea of his brother opening up and sharing something with him made his heart quicken oddly, even if it was just some childhood memory stirred up by a wave of nostalgia.

Sam taps his fingertips along his beer, stepping forward to lean his forearms against the railing, bottle dangling from his hands. “I don’t know. Stories where the family only looked that happy and content through the window. Where once the light was out, or they were in another room, the truth was the father was an abusive asshole, the mother had drinking issues and the children were addicted to crack and killed the family dog.”

Moving very slowly, Dean turns to look at his brother with raised eyebrows, he wasn’t even sure what to say to something like that. “Wow Sam,” he clears his throat and turns back to the grill, poking at the coals at the bottom of the barbeque to spread out the heat. “That’s uh… hell, got to be honest here Sam, that’s a tad disturbing.”

His brother snorts and brings the bottle to his lips again. “Yeah I know. But I figured our family couldn’t be the only fucked up one. Had to be families worse then us out there.”

“Dude, killed the family dog?” Dean arches his eyebrow and half turns to him, forcing a chuckle because a tiny part of him is a little worried that his baby brother might try to stab him with an ice pick if he’s not careful. “Our family wasn’t nearly that messed up.”

“I know, I was going for extremes,” Sam shrugs as if the logic makes sense – which it doesn’t – but Dean doesn’t point it out. “I don’t do that now. No use.”

“Because now our family _is_ that fucked up?” Dean slaps the steaks down on the metal cooking rack and grates his teeth.

Sam sighs and finishes his beer, dropping the bottle on the table and picking up Dean’s instead. “I’m that fucked up. Seems like you’ve got your shit figured out.”

“I have a job, place to live, sure,” Dean nods, suddenly uncomfortable with the complete turn in the conversation. He keeps his back to Sam and, thankfully, the discussion ends. Though Dean is sure the words will stick with him for the rest of his life.

*

“Well Dean, I have to admit, you’re a fairly decent cook,” Sam leans back against the chair, rubbing his stomach with a satisfied smirk.

Rising to retrieve another beer for him and his brother, Dean belches and chuckles. “I used to cook for you all the time.”

“Pouring me cereal and milk does not count,” Sam disagrees, taking the offered beer and staring at it curiously. “Dude, another one? Did you ever think you might have a drinking problem?”

Dean snorts and bypasses the kitchen chairs in favor of the large recliner in the living room. “Let’s not get started on who’s issues are the biggest.”

Shaking his head Sam rises to join him, popping the top of his beer and collapsing down onto the couch. He smacks his lips together for a moment before kicking his feet up on the table and sighing.

“Hey,” Dean reaches out and smacks along the sole of the shoe. “No shoes on the coffee table man, get some manners.”

Sam arches an eyebrow and scoffs, “Seriously?”

“Yeah seriously, this isn’t a frat house,” Dean huffs and falls back into his chair, sipping from the bottle in his hand before continuing. “So how’s-“

“If you’re going to ask about Dad, don’t,” Sam holds up a hand, shaking his head and leaning forward to prop his forearms on his thighs. “That’s not… open for discussion.” Another shake of his head and he reaches out to set the beer on the table. “Is that okay or should I use a coaster?”

“A coaster? What? Sam I’m not a fuckin’ girl,” he chokes on his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s actually okay that Sam doesn’t want to bring up their father, he’d rather not either but he figured it was the polite thing to do, to check in.

They fall into an awkward silence and Dean racks his brain for something to say, worry gnawing up in him when he sees Sam glance at his watch out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t want Sam to go yet, is actually terrified this will be the only chance he has to establish any sort of connection between them that might help in rebuilding their relationship. Or at least get them talking on the phone once a week. Dean wasn’t sure he could let go of Sam for a second time.

Dean use to dream about Sam every night when he first left and on more than one occasion he’d been halfway back to the last place he’d seen his father and brother before hopping off whatever bus or truck he’d hitched a ride on. Dean could never go back to that life, to the hunting and constant moving, to the way his father could never see the damage he was inflicting on both his sons.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Sam asks.

The question is innocent enough, even logical, but Dean can feel the heat rush up his system, coloring his cheeks slightly. It wasn’t until after Dean left his family that he learned certain facts about himself, his preference for men being the major one. It isn’t something Dean really wants to discuss with his brother now. “No.”

Sam seems to sense the finality in the word and asks no more. Or he just doesn’t really care. Dean prefers it to be the latter. “Do you want to watch a movie? I have a pretty decent collection under the TV stand there,” Dean gestures to the closed cabinet and pushes up out of the chair. “I have to pee, I’ll be back.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Sam snorts and Dean grins.

For a moment he can pretend that Sam and he are like any other brothers, getting together and goofing off, that there’s no awkward tension boiling just under the surface. No words left unspoken, promises broken, shattered history hovering between the two of them. Dean wishes it could always be this way that he could convince Sam to stay and settle down. They could share this place or get a bigger one, Dean would even let Sam work at the shop until he decided what he really wanted to do.

Half way through pulling up his zipper it occurs to Dean that he never thought to move his sizable collection of porn, and that the large stack of DVDs is right there beside his movies and all Sam has to do to find them is open the right cabinet door instead of the left. He’s out the bathroom door like a bullet, rounding the corner and freezing in his tracks as he takes in Sam kneeling in front of the TV – which is on – watching a video of Dean fucking some nameless guy. And damn, Dean had also forgotten that his own _very private_ collection of homemade movies were tucked away in nameless DVD cases right along with the porn stash.

Sam’s jaw is wider then Dean ever thought it could go – which stirs up a sudden onslaught of mental images he’s really not prepared to deal with on top of all of this. Even allowing his brain to entertain the thought that Sam’s grown into one of the hottest guys Dean has ever laid eyes on is too much.

Dean tries to form words, or at least let Sam know that he’s standing there, watching his brother watch him thrust hard into the man’s ass. The scene distracts Dean for just the briefest moment and heat flares in his belly, cock almost instantly hard and pressing against his half done up fly. His image on the screen growls and slaps a hand down hard on the firm rounded cheek, the slap echoing around them.

A groan fell from Dean’s lips and Sam’s head snaps to him, eyes wide and jaw still slack in surprise. “I uh,” he flushes, reaching out to slap at the TV until he finally manages to hit the power button, the noise cutting off just as the man he was with on the video was half way through loudly moan Dean’s name. “It wasn’t labeled and um… there’s was all this…” Sam gestures vaguely to the collection of porn in the cabinet, sliding up off the ground and carding his hand up through his hair in the same nervous gesture he’s had all his life. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

Dean wants to force a chuckle, wants to laugh this whole ridiculous thing off. So what if he’s gay? Sam’s not a judgmental person, would never bash him or any of that crap. But there’s something simmering under the surface and Dean’s cock is still pressing to hard against his jeans and he’s not sure if he wants to scream or punch something. It’s beginning to really grate on his nerves, this onslaught of emotions that the reappearance of his brother has stirred up in him.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam tries again, eyes softening a little as he slides forward and wets his lips. Dean can tell the minute Sam realizes he’s turned on, watches Sam’s eyes flicker down then quickly back up, watches his nostrils flare and heat color his face.

It makes his heart clench painfully but Dean prepares himself for his brother’s anger and disgust. Even considers whether he can pass the whole thing off as a practical joke, all staged to get the biggest laughs. But the look in Sam’s eyes is knowing and Dean knows he’s been caught like a cat with a canary, feathers hanging out of his mouth so to speak. So he prepares himself for loosing his brother once more and this time never getting him back. Only his brother surprises him by doing something Dean could never prepare himself for.

Watching Sam cross the room in three quick steps, Dean suddenly finds himself pressed flush against the wall, lips crashing down into his with brutal force. Sam’s fingers wrap tightly against his shirt front, and it’s a mixture of teeth and lips and tongues and Dean’s mind is reeling, fighting to catch up even as his own hands struggle to find some sort of purchase along Sam’s back. His broken fingers ache with each tight squeeze of cloth but he can’t be bothered with it now.

Sam’s lips are like fire against his, burning and raw, and Dean can only open his mouth wider and allow Sam space to explore. By the time they part several minutes later Dean is gasping for air and his cock is fully erect, tenting out his boxers past his still open zipper.

Leveling his gaze with Sam’s, Dean slowly drags his tongue across his lips, not surprised by the faintest coppery tinge of blood mixed with his saliva. Sam watches the action with dark eyes, fingers still curled in the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

Then everything seems to catch up with him and Sam’s shoving Dean hard against the wall again, this time lifting him off the floor by a few inches – fabric ripping under Dean’s arm pits – before he’s letting go and Dean collapses to the floor in a surprised heap. The walls around him shake in the next moment with the force of the front door being slammed.

Dean can only stare at the vacant space his brother had occupied moments before and blink slowly. If it wasn’t for the tingle still on his lips – and the lingering taste of Sam mixed with beer – Dean might have considered that he dreamed it. Only he didn’t and he has absolutely no idea what that means.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

Sam dreams of his brother. Of lips and tongues and the distinct taste of musk and beer. He dreams of the long lines of his brother’s body, the perfectly rounded curve of his ass, the way his hips thrust forward in quick, shallow arcs. Only in his dream he’s arching up into Dean desperately, begging for more, pleading for his release. Every inch of Sam burns with desire and _need_.

Then Dean’s fingers are tightening in his hair, holding him there with each slam forward and Sam thinks he very well might be loosing his mind. His body writhes on the bed, tangled in motel sheets, persistent heat begging for him to pull out of the dream and take care of the issue. But in his dream Dean is moaning his name and curling his fist around Sam, stroking him hard and fast to completion.

Sam comes all over his chest in white-hot gasps, hips arching with each wave of his orgasm. It’s only after he’s laying spent on the bed, semen cooling along his flesh, that the serious weight of this hits him. Sam barely makes it to the bathroom, falling to his knees and heaving the remaining contents of his dinner into the toilet.

“Shit,” he hisses and falls against the counter, resolutely ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks and the lingering taste of beer, vomit, and his brother circling his mouth.

*

When Dean steps outside his apartment building the following morning, he halfway expects his GTO to be missing, expects his brother to be long gone, never to be seen again. So the tightening of his stomach, the fluttering of his heart, is mildly understandable. Especially when he gets to his shop several minutes later and finds the Impala still there – not that he’d been thinking Sam would break in just to steal his own car back, but well, the idea had crossed his mind.

The maintenance man shows up just as Dean returns from getting coffee, which makes Dean feel a little uneasy because there’s no putting off fixing the Impala and sending Sam on his way. It’s a quick job, and with no other cars to occupy his time, it takes only two hours. Dean throws in a free oil change and replaces a couple of belts just to be safe.

Then there’s nothing to do but wait. Wait for Sam to come and pick up his car, slide into the driver’s seat and take off with Dean’s heart. Just thinking about it makes Dean scoff at himself because it sounds so girly and ridiculous and Dean is made of more manly things than that. Though more and more recently he’s been questioning what those are.

“Hey Dean,” Danny steps into the office, rubbing lotion into his greasy skin. “Your brother’s here.” He gestures out into the garage.

Dean watches Sam run his fingers over the curves of the Impala, heart rate already picking up. He nods at Danny and heads toward the door. “Could you just, give me a moment? Take an early lunch?”

Danny nods and reaches around the office counter to grab his keys and wallet. “I’m gonna pop down the street and get some sandwiches, I’ll bring you back one yeah?”

“Thanks,” Dean nods, watching him leave through the window – watching Sam turn and give him a half wave as goodbye. After a few more moments he steps past the office door and clears his throat. “Hey. She’s all ready.”

Sam spins to him, starting slightly and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Great. Good. So. What do I owe you?”

“Oh uh,” Dean glances around, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck and squeezing softly. “Fifty bucks.”

“That’s it?” Sam arches a questioning eyebrow and reaches in his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “You’re not charging me for the full thing are you?”

“I already told you I was going to knock off some of the cost.” Dean shrugs casually and snatches Sam’s invoice off the counter, folding it half in between his fingers and sliding closer to hand it to his brother. “I also changed the oil, replaced a couple of belts that were wearing thin. She should be good to go.”

Sam nods and holds out a folded fifty dollar bill, holding on to it for just a second too long once Dean’s fingers close around it. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Dean lifts his shoulders and drops them with a heavy sigh. He can feel the end sneaking up on them, crawling out of the darkness and working its way up to dig fingers into his heart. “Sam? About last night-“

“I’d rather not,” Sam held up a hand and vehemently shook his head. “Dean, let’s just not talk about it… it was just, a spur of the moment. It was just… Dean I was just…”

“Hey, I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Dean forces himself to chuckle and turn away. “I know it was just a thing. And it happened. And that’s that.”

“Right,” Sam agrees and they fall into an uncomfortable, awkward silence for a long stretch of time. Dean knows it’s just moments now. Only a few more shaky breaths to try and gain control of his escalating emotions before Sam climbs into the Impala to drive off, and Dean finds himself wondering if this is anywhere close to how Sam felt when Dean left all those years ago. “I uh, need my keys?”

Dean turns to him and nods, reaching in his pocket to pull out the key. “Yeah I guess you’re right. You’d need those.” He moved forward, extending his hand and dangling the key from his fingers.

Sam takes the metal ring silently and opens the driver’s door, sliding onto the cool seat. Dean walks across the large room to hit the button, garage door sliding up and open. His heart lurched as the Impala roared to life and he crossed back to Sam quickly, stooping beside the driver’s door to speak into the open window. “Sam?”

He watches his brother inhale and exhale slowly, watches his fingers curl and uncurl around the steering wheel. “Yeah?”

“It was good to see you,” Dean whispers. Not sure if his brother can even hear him over the engine echoing loudly in the cramped space. “Here,” he holds out the bill until Sam slowly raises his hand and takes it. “My phone number is on the bottom there, if you… if you ever want to call.”

Sam wets his lips and turns to Dean, staring at him with cloudy eyes. Dean tries to read the expression shaping his features but comes up with nothing. Then Sam’s nodding, lips forming the words ‘you too’ before he shifts the car into reverse and backs out and down the driveway.

Dean watches the shiny black reflect in the sunlight until Sam reaches the traffic light and turns right, disappearing from sight.

*

Sam is not crying because he really could care less about leaving his brother behind. Why should it matter to him? After all he hasn’t seen the guy for ten years, and they really don’t even have anything in common anymore. And just because he felt more connected to a single person in the past twenty-four hours… well it doesn’t really mean anything. Sam suspects that connections with long lost brothers should be pretty intense. That and Sam doesn’t take a lot of time out of his life to attempt to connect with random strangers.

Seeing Dean again was never something Sam had figured into the delicate balance of his life. Not that Sam spends a lot of time considering that balance, in fact he goes out of his way to ignore it. Sam hunts and travels from city to city as he’s needed, he fucks nameless girls – doesn’t have problems paying for it if he’s too tired to take the time to woo the girl. And most importantly, Sam doesn’t care that he can’t pinpoint the sting of pain in his chest.

The highway stretches out in front of him, black tar and white lines and Sam is almost a hundred miles away when he realizes he’s yet to turn on his radio and that the silence is beating against his brain. He’s not sure where he’s going, hasn’t even bothered to search for his next hunt, so he pulls into a nearly abandoned diner off route seventy-eight and lets his head fall against the steering wheel.

Sam sits silently in the back booth until the waitress makes him order something. Then he gets apple pie which he can’t eat because it drags up a memory of a diner not too different from this one, only back then his brother sat across from him and ate the pie like it was god’s gift to man. Sam can still remember the way his tongue would dart out to trace between the prongs, the way his lips would curve up, the deep timber of his laugh around the words, “There are few things better in life then pie Sammy my boy.”

Back then Sam was just an impressionable fourteen year old and Dean was the coolest person he knew. And well, if Sam had a bit of a crush on him it was only logical. Dean was all Sam knew. Where most children inspire to be like their father’s, Sam wanted nothing more then to be just like his big brother. And then Dean left and Sam could never figure out why he wasn’t enough to keep his brother around.

“We’re closing kid,” the waitress comes by several hours later, staring down at the piece of pie on the plate. “You should go back to him. Talk it out.”

“What?” Sam looks up, surprised to find that it’s night outside, probably has been for a while. “Him?”

“Your boyfriend?” The waitress points to the napkin and snatches the plate. “It’s not worth being miserable over. I’m sure you two can work it out.”

Sam watches her go, trying to figure out where she got the idea that he was miserable about a boyfriend, then his eyes land on the napkin where he’s scribbled Dean’s name subconsciously over and over. A faint groan falls from his lips as he drops a ten on the table and slides out of the booth.

When he backs out of the small parking lot he flips on the radio and heads in the direction he’s already come.

*

The most important thing right now, at this very moment, is making sure all nine beer bottles are perfectly aligned in the center of the coffee table, two inches of space between each one. Dean crawls to the furthest end of the table, squinting to consider his work and taking a long pull from his tenth beer. After all, he has to finish it to make the whole thing symmetrical and complete, or whatever. He figures ten bottles every two inches comes out to a lot of evens and there are so many odds in the rest of his life so he could use some evens.

Or something like that. Dean doesn’t have a problem admitting he’s a little – a lot – drunk.

“Well Sam,” Dean glances over at the corkboard he’d taken off the kitchen wall and positioned against the TV. He considers the picture of his brother for awhile before finishing off his beer and setting it on the table. He pushes himself up and stumbles into the kitchen, stubbing his toe on one of the dinning room chairs and letting out a string of curses. When Dean’s eleventh beer is just about halfway finished he remembers his masterpiece and ultimate tribute to beer bottles on the coffee table and pushes away from the counter he’d been previously leaning on.

“Sammy boy,” Dean starts again, adding the tenth bottle to the perfect row. It seems Dean has a tendency to be a tad obsessive compulsive the drunker he gets, and well, Dean’s pretty drunk. “I think I need a ruler. To make sure. I think I can estimate two inches but well, I don’t know if there are ten bottles or twenty. This is an issue.” He tips the bottle back until it fails to produce any more liquid. “And it stands to reason… that… that…” he ponders the thought for a moment before jerking up the bottle in sudden realization. “Eleven! Eleven is odd and therefore I need twelve. Because we all know even is better.”

Dean passes out halfway through the twelfth bottle of beer, ruler clenched tightly in his fist, mumbling about the importance of even numbers and straight lines.

*

When Dean wakes it’s half past two and his shirt is drenched with foul, warm and sticky beer. Which is pretty bad in itself but then he sits up and the world spins around him and he only _just_ makes it to the bathroom in time. After all remaining beer is purged from his system, Dean slowly pushes up off the tiled floor – legs stiff, throat burning – and pulls off his shirt, tossing it in the laundry basket along the wall. He drinks a glass of tap water before brushing his teeth, drinking another glass of water and using mouth wash.

It takes thirty minutes for Dean to pull on a fresh pair of boxers, eat two pieces of semi stale bread, drink three more glasses of water, take four Advil and brush his teeth. Again. Then he empties his bladder and finally collapses onto his bed with an exhausted whoosh of oxygen leaving his lips. Dean’s floating around the edges of a dream – something about Sam and lips and skin – when a loud banging at his front door jerks him awake quite unpleasantly.

“Gonna kill whoever’s there…” he groans as he rolls off the mattress and stumbles down the hall. “Alright I’m comin’!” He hollers when the banging repeats and he reaches out to turns the deadlock, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open.

It’s then that Dean realizes just how slack he’s become in the ways of hunting, either that or he’s still a lot drunker than he realizes. Sam has him back in the apartment, the door slammed shut, and Dean against its hard wooden surface before he’s even blinked. His heart skids to a halt and he has a moment to stare into his brother’s eyes, whisper his name, before their lips crash together violently.

Everything blurs together and it has very little to do with the alcohol still coursing through his system, it has much more to do with Sam’s strong fingers curling almost painfully against his wrist and dragging him down the hall to his bedroom. Dean stumbles to keep up, falls back onto the mattress with a large oomph when Sam’s hands connect with his chest and shove him hard. “Sam,” he gasps when lips suddenly brush along the sensitive flesh above his boxers.

Sam says nothing, simply hooks both index fingers under the elastic of the waist and tugs sharply down. Dean watches his brother’s eyes take in his exposed flesh, cock twitching as Sam drags his tongue along the curve of his lips. Firm, calloused fingers curl around his already mostly hard flesh and he moans, hips twitching up into the touch. Sam watches his fist move slowly along Dean’s flesh and Dean watches Sam.

They stay that way for a stretch of time in which Dean looses all ability to think coherently and Sam’s eyes never move from the trail of skin against skin.

“Sam.”

Movement flares through his brother and Dean finds himself suddenly staring down into his pillow, propped up on his elbows with his teeth sinking into his lower lip, leaving sharp indentations. He tries to focus on the little noises, the metallic scrape of Sam’s zipper, Sam spitting into his palm, the harsh inhale and shaky exhale, but then Sam’s thick index finger is pressing inside his tight muscles and all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears.

Dean’s not prepared for the intrusion, and the sting of pain joins the tendrils of pleasure, twisting and colliding through his system. Just as he thinks he’s adjusted to one finger Sam shoves in another, free hand reaching up Dean’s back and curling around his shoulder, tugging him hard until Dean has no choice but to straighten his back.

Sam stands at the foot of the bed and – as Dean’s dragged back and up – his hard cock slides along the curve of his brother’s ass. Fingers jerk his head back, lips and teeth connecting with his ear lobe as Sam growls into his ear, “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

They’re the first words Sam’s said since his entrance and gooseflesh crawls along Dean’s shoulder. His brother’s fingers are still buried impossibly far inside him and Dean can only manage an incoherent grunt, hissing as Sam shoves in a third.

“I think you do.” Sam breathes, working his fingers in quick, scissoring motions. “I think you want me to fuck you. Want me to bury my thick, hard dick in you. Take you.”

Dean doesn’t think Sam’s looking for an answer – couldn’t manage one even if he wanted too – so he only moans and drops his head forward. Just as suddenly as he was up, he’s back down on all fours and the head of Sam’s cock is pressing against his still tight entrance.

The pressure and burn is more intense than anything Dean’s ever felt and he rocks forward and away from it almost instinctively, but Sam’s fingers curl just above his hipbones and holds him steady. His brother takes his time sliding in, stopping every inch or so to allow Dean time to adjust. Dropping from his hands to his elbows, Dean arches his back to give Sam more room to move until he’s fully sheathed.

Silence hangs heavy around them, only interrupted by the occasional shaky exhale from Sam and contradicting sharp inhale from Dean. Brief thoughts flicker through his mind as he adjusts to the intrusion, like if Sam had ever done this before, or why he was doing it now. With him of all people. And right before anything else happens, Dean wonders why the thought of how very _wrong_ this whole thing is has yet to occur to him before this very moment.

“Sam.”

Like before the name works as a trigger and Sam’s pulling all the way out before slamming hard back down. Dean barely manages to keep himself up for the first few thrusts, grunting with each slam down. His fist curl in his sheets and he steadily rocks his hips back to meet each inward slide.

His brother is silent excluding the quick gasps for oxygen and Dean marvels at his ability to continue standing. It’s too easy to loose himself in the stretch and slide and when the head of Sam’s cock finally brushes his prostate Dean’s unprepared. A loud moan falls from his lips and holds himself steady so each thrust will brush the area.

They don’t last long, which doesn’t surprise Dean in the slightest, and when Sam comes it’s in white hot jets that fill Dean more than he thought possible. In turn, Dean curls his fist around himself and comes half a dozen strokes later across the bed sheets and his palm. He holds himself up for only a moment longer until his arm collapses and he falls to the mattress with a groan.

An awkward post coital tension fills the silence almost instantly and Dean shifts on the mattress to get a better look down at his brother. Sam is still standing, though most of his weight is pressing against the mattress, and his eyes are cast downward at his hands as if he’s waiting for something monumental to happen. Or maybe just waiting for the ground to open and swallow them both to hell, since Dean’s pretty sure that’s where they’re headed.

“Bathroom,” Sam finally mumbles and pushes out of the room, tugging up his pants and only stumbling slightly.

As Dean rolls onto his side away from the door, his stomach churns uneasily. Not because he just let his brother fuck him, but more because he just let his brother fuck him still mostly dressed and now he’s pretty sure said brother is going to leave like nothing ever happened. Dean doesn't like the way he suddenly feels discarded; used and dirty. It's almost terrifying that Sam can even be that callous.

Just before he drifts to sleep the bed shifts beside him and Sam’s voice says softly, “Dean?” But he’s too tired, too spent to respond with more then a quiet ‘hmm’ and he falls into unconsciousness before he can find out what his brother wanted to say.

When he wakes several hours later it’s to the blaring of his alarm clock, a headache threading to crack his skull, and an empty apartment.

*

Dean calls Sam’s cell every day for the first week – sometimes twice a day, but generally only after he’s had a few drinks. With every call he leaves a message, varying in degrees of anger to pleading. During this time Dean learns he’s not above begging for forgiveness even if he’s not wholly responsible for the thing he’s apologizing for. He also learns that it takes roughly three and a half minutes for Sam’s voicemail to cut him off and that drunk messages contain more swearwords then the average R rated movie.

The second and third week he spaces it to every other day and only leaves messages every third call. Of course he’s fairly certain he still sounds like a whiney bitch but Sam refuses to answer or call him back so it can’t really be helped. The world around Dean crumbles piece by piece and he slowly looses his motivation to keep going, barely manages to pull himself out of bed to go to work each day and even then it’s with a constantly blazing hangover.

For the second and third month he calls every three to four days, leaving a message only once a week and reducing the words to quick and short, “Please call,” or, “Sam. Call me.” And if sometimes Dean forgets to shave – or shower – during that stretch of time, well, it’s not completely his fault. Occasionally Dean thinks he’d feel just a little bit better if it was Sam’s voice on the machine and not some digital recording of the number he called.

By the fourth month Dean caves and calls Bobby.

Waiting for the line to go through, Dean considers his apartment with heavy eyes. His coffee table is a checker board of beer bottles, each spaced two inches apart, twelve to a column, six columns. For whatever the reason Dean’s a tad obsessed with it, constantly ensuring all the bottles are facing the right way, replacing bottles who’s labels are even slightly wrinkled or torn. He doesn’t like to admit it but there’s a fear crawling up inside him that his collection will be complete soon and then he won’t know what to do.

“Dean?” Bobby’s voice is gruffer than usual, more concerned than Dean had anticipated, and he can’t help wondering if he missed the initial greeting.

“Bobby,” Dean contemplates trying for casual, considers if he could fool the older man into thinking this was just a pleasant check in call. But Bobby’s smarter than that and Dean decides not to insult his intelligence by trying to fool him. “Have you heard from Sam?”

The staticy silence that follows is long enough to be a positive answer and Dean’s heart lurches expectantly. “Now Dean-“

“I just need to know he’s okay,” Dean interjects before Bobby can go off about not wanting to get involved with their family conflicts. Every fiber of Dean’s being aches to hear Sam’s voice but he’ll settle on Bobby’s information, however limited it might be.

“Last I talked to him seemed like it. I know you two ran into each other.”

“He told you?” Dean inhales sharply, not sure why hope flutters up his chest. Thinking that Sam even acknowledged their limited interaction was a positive step.

“No. Your Dad did.” Bobby’s words are clipped and there’s a distinct shuffle of papers in the background and someone’s faintly hissed words.

That’s about the time it clicks for Dean and he thinks he might be sick. “Bobby,” he wets his lips, stopping and clearing his throat before trying again. “Bobby is my brother there with you now?”

“I don’t-“

“Don’t lie to me Bobby,” Dean snaps because he knows he’s right. “Put him on the phone.”

“Dean he doesn-“

“Damnit Bobby you put my brother on the phone. _Now_.”

“Now see here Dean Winchester, you don’t take that tone of voi-“ The line cuts and shuffles, clatters loudly and there’s a swell of angry murmurs before silence, a door slamming, and the faint whisper of wind blowing into the speaker.

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice is like fire along his skin and Dean’s eyes flutter closed in the swell of relief tinged with regret and sadness. “Sam…” There’s not much else to say really. Dean’s already left Sam a slew of angry voice mails that he’s sure his brother listened to even if he had no intentions of returning them. Dean could rant and rave for awhile about how worried he’s been, but then Sam would likely point out the fact that Dean went ten years without seemingly caring before so why would it matter now. Which isn’t true, Dean never stopped caring, but making Sam see that logic was almost impossible.

“I was going to call you,” Sam’s whisper is soft and timid and sad, Dean wants to crawl through the line and pull him close, crawl through the line and connect his fist with his brother’s jaw because it’s not fair or right.

“When?” He means it to come out cold and angry, though he’s fairly certain it sounds more lonely and desperate.

“Today. Dean, Dad’s in trouble.”

The world Dean’s lived in the past four months – post Sam part two as he’s taken to calling it mentally – is made up of very carefully balanced emotions that Dean has trouble keeping together on the best of days. Those words leaving Sam’s lips bring the collection tumbling around him and Dean almost feels like he can stare down at them with panic and fear. He doesn’t want to care about his estranged father, he doesn’t want to so easily accept what that one fact means, but he does. He opens his lips and says, “I’ll be there tomorrow.” And that’s that, he’s sealed his fate.

Sam doesn’t make a fuss about insisting Dean not worry about it, doesn’t try to argue him out of the decision and whether that’s because he thinks Dean _should_ be there or he _wants_ Dean to be there is unclear. “I’ll text you the address,” is what Sam does say and the line falls so quiet Dean has to pull his cell back to see if it’s still connected. He brings it back to his ear just in time to hear Sam say, “Thanks Dean,” before the line does click and end.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

“He’s coming,” Sam sets Bobby’s phone on the table and spins it between his index finger and thumb. Bobby’s eyes burn into him and he doesn’t need to ask to know what’s running through the older man’s mind. “I’d really rather not hear it Bobby.”

“I told you to get him here, I didn’t say how,” Bobby’s voice is low and gruff and he yanks off his hat to rub a hand along his head with a sigh.

Sam crosses the room in four slow steps, his hand dropping down to trace the bandages wrapped around his arm. “This whole thing is ridiculous.”

“Well then you shouldn’t have told your brother your dad was in trouble. Just gonna make things ten times harder when he gets here and finds out that you almost-“

“Would you stop with that?” Sam spins to him with an angry glare. “I’m not… damnit Bobby why the hell would I be suicidal? It was just a hunt gone wrong. I underestimated the demon and got a little, or a lot, beat up in the process. You’re really blowing this whole thing out of proportion…”

Bobby watches him with dark eyes, lips turned slightly downward. “Sam, if there’s nothing wrong, if it was just this one time and you were being stupid, that’s fine. But let me ask you something.”

Sam waits, holding his breath because part of him already knows what is coming and he isn’t really ready to discuss it. Not with Bobby, not with anyone.

“Why are you still here? Why did you lie to your brother to get him to come?” Bobby studies him with intense eyes and Sam can’t meet his gaze.

There’s a flash of a memory – Dean’s body arched up into his hips, tight muscles clenching around him – and Sam can’t fight off the shiver that crawls up his spine. What could Sam say to Bobby? Somehow he didn’t see, ‘well I pretty much raped my older brother and then left before he woke up,’ going over very well. So he settles on mumbling a soft, “I don’t know,” before heading out the front door to get some much needed fresh air.

*

It takes Dean a half hour to get on the road, which is pretty impressive considering he has to throw his stuff in the large duffle bag, call Jerry and explain about a family emergency, and pop into the nearest supermarket to stock up on food and drinks so he won’t have to make more stops than the necessary. If he doesn’t stop to sleep and takes only ten to fifteen minutes at the occasional gas station, Dean estimates a full twenty-one hours to get to Bobby’s. Dean hasn’t made a trip like this in a long time, and less then two hundred miles in everything takes on a hauntingly familiar quality. The car, the music, the lack of company is all different, but Dean doesn’t have to use much energy to pull up the memory of years gone by.

Sometimes Dean would let his brother sit in the front seat – when he was feeling charitable or wanted to stretch his legs out along the bench seat in back – and Sam would be so excited he was nearly bouncing. They would then have to listen to him chatter on about the latest thing he caught on TV, or pester his father about his latest hunt. Dean used to smile and let his eyes slip closed, let his brother’s excitement wash over him. As the years passed Sam’s excitement about sitting up front faded, but Dean found himself offering it more often than not, if only in hopes that the excited Sam of their childhood would return. At some point after Sam’s fourteenth birthday – and a four hour car ride in which Sam said nothing – Dean realized this life was getting to his younger brother. It was then that he decided he had to get away from it all, snatch his brother up and show him that not everything in the world was made of hunting and gore.

Only it didn’t work that way. Dean hadn’t even been given the opportunity to ask his brother to come, had been turned away before the words could even leave his lips. So many times Dean had thought he would go back, if only to force his brother to listen to his reasoning, but the fear of rejection from the most important person in his life had him stopping short, and by the time he worked up the courage it was too late. Dean would never regret anything more than the day he left Sam and his heart seemed to thrum with the possibility of righting some of those wrongs now.

What Dean finds only mildly disturbing is the fact that the full twenty-one hours and forty three minutes it takes to get to Bobby’s place in South Dakota is the longest stretch of time he’s been completely sober in the past four months. Every muscle aches – including his head – but the closer he gets to his brother the quicker his heart races, the harder his foot presses against the gas peddle.

Bobby’s place is familiar in a foreign way – which seems to be happening so often to Dean recently that it’s completely thrown off his inner balance. The sun is just starting to set on the horizon as Dean slips his keys from the ignition, and a sudden rush of adrenaline quickly outweighs the exhaustion. He shoves open the door and climbs out, reaching back in to pull out his duffle bag.

It’s not too surprising that no one comes out to greet him, even though he’s confident that they heard him pull up, and as he walks to the door he can feel the tension in his shoulders mounting. With every step toward the front door his heart seems to skip a beat and he’s suddenly not sure about this whole thing. This isn’t Dean’s life anymore and he can’t return to it. He’ll never be a hunter again, and if it wasn’t for Sam asking, than he wouldn’t be here.

Bobby opens the door before Dean can even lift his fist to rap against the hard wood. “Hey Bobby,” he greets him with a half grin that quickly changes to a loud ‘oomph’ as Bobby’s arms clasp firmly around him.

“Dean Winchester as I live and breathe,” Bobby steps back from the hug and shakes his head, deep chuckle rumbling through him. “Boy, Sam told me you were coming but I couldn’t believe it ‘til I saw it and here you are. You’ve grown up.”

“Tends to happen,” Dean chuckles in return and rubs the back of neck in a nervous gesture, glancing past the man into the front room trying to spot his brother. “Can I come in?”

Stepping back from the door to give him room, Bobby’s chuckle shifts to a genuine laugh. “Next you’re gonna be asking for a beverage and a meal, needy kid.”

“Always the host,” Dean drops his duffle bag onto the couch and surveys the room, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rocking forward slightly onto the balls of his feet. “Where’s my brother?”

Bobby scoffs and gestures vaguely as he makes his way across the small room. “He’s around I’m sure. Always straight to the important stuff with you huh? No, how you been Bobby? What’s new Bobby? Boy, I know you were raised with better manners then that.”

Dean snorts on a laugh and shakes his head, decides it’s probably best not to critique his dad’s method of raising his children so early in his visit. Especially considering he’s the reason Sam asked him here in the first place. So Dean sticks with something safe, “You’re right Bobby, sorry. How you been? What’s new?”

“Not much,” Bobby shrugs and walks out the room and into the kitchen, leaving Dean to chuckle softly behind him.

“Dean.” Sam’s appearance at the bottom of the stairs is abrupt enough to have Dean starting slightly, spinning to him with a suddenly dry mouth.

Sam looks, well, pretty bad if Dean’s honest with himself. His left arm is completely wrapped in bandages and his face has several long cuts that are red with irritation. Dean watches him step hesitantly forward with a slight limp and frowns. “Sam, what happened? Who did this to you?” Itching to be closer, Dean takes three quick steps forward, stopping short of throwing his arms around his brother and holding on for dear life.

“Bad hunt,” Sam shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

It has Dean bristling around the edges and his frown deepens. Older brother instinct kicks in and he wants to berate him, poke and pester until he finds out exactly why Sam would risk his life, would allow himself to be in a position where a bad hunt could be the outcome. But Dean holds back the urge by sinking his teeth hard into his lower lip. Anything he has to say would most likely start a fight and he’s really not up for that.

They stand together in awkward silence, the space they occupy is less than two brothers should share but not enough for Dean, who is so intensely overcome by the desire to crash their lips together he thinks if one of them doesn’t move soon nothing’s going to stop him. Not even the possibility of Bobby reentering the room at any moment.

“You have to be exhausted,” Sam’s words come out in a whisper and he steps back, dragging a hand up through his hair. “The guest room is all set up, come on,” he turns and heads up the stairs, leaving Dean no choice but to follow.

Dean curls his fingers around the strap of his duffle bag and tugs it up, throwing it over his shoulder and taking the steps two at a time after his brother. The room they enter is little more then a bed and a closet. There is one chair tucked away in the shadows, and Dean chooses that to throw his bag down on. His hands slide into his pockets when he turns to his brother, and he clears his throat. “So what’s this with dad? Shouldn’t we figure some stuff out before I crash?”

“You won’t be any help dead on your feet,” Sam offers and shrugs, but his eyes skitter around the room nervously and Dean knows he’s lying. Ten years hasn’t worked to change all of his brother’s habits.

Considering the way his brother’s hands continually drag up through his hair, the way he shuffles his feet along the slightly dusty floor, Dean can’t let the subject rest – no matter how tired he is. “Sam what is it? Dad’s not… it’s not too late is it?”

“What? No, Dean… no that’s not…” Sam shakes his head, looking up sharply. His lower lip disappears between his teeth for a moment before he sighs and steps further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Dean, dad’s not in trouble.”

Dean blinks at him, watching him sink down onto the mattress and drop his hands into his head. He’s torn between what to do, whether to try and offer comfort or be angry that he’s devoted so much time, money and energy to get here for apparently no reason. “So he figured it out? It wasn’t as bad as you guys originally thought?”

Sam’s second sigh is heavy and extended, shifting the air in the room. “Dad was never in trouble.”

This is a realization Dean is not prepared to deal with. Questions explode through him one right after another. Why was he here then? Why had Sam lied? Was Sam in more danger than he was suggesting? Had something else happened? How could Dean possibly do anything to fix this? It was all too much and Dean drops onto the mattress beside his brother with a groan. “Dad was never in trouble.” He repeats slowly and glances at Sam out the corner of his eye. “So…”

“Just get some sleep Dean, we can talk about it tomorrow.” Sam pushes up and heads for the door.

Dean feels the brush off like a slap in his face and he exhales sharply. “What the fuck Sam? I just drove twenty-one hours to get here, to come to you, and now you’re acting like you don’t even want me here. So can you please give me something to go on to know this wasn’t all a waste?”

Back stiffening, hand already extended out to the doorknob, Sam tilts his head slightly and doesn’t turn to face his brother. “Bobby wanted you to come,” Sam says, and the words don’t sound cold as much as they sound hopeless, sad, defeated.

Dean’s heart lurches and shoves hard to push himself off the bed and cross the room quickly, hand falling heavy on Sam’s shoulder before he can talk himself out of it. “Sam?”

“I…” Sam swallows, throat working to get the words out. “I wanted you to come.” He turns into his brother’s arm and for just a moment their chests are pressed together, heat circling between them, and Sam dips his head to lean his forehead against Dean’s, lips a whisper apart. “I needed you to come.”

“Sammy…” Dean breathes and every inch of his body tingles, his hand slips past his shoulder, down his back and lower, hovering over the curve of his ass.

Time around them ceases, and for all Dean knows they stand that way for hours, lips close enough that the drag of Sam’s tongue along his lips caresses Dean’s as well. They share the same air, chests rising and falling in sync, foreheads still resting together. Then Sam sighs and pulls back, detangles himself from the moment of intimacy and reaches behind him to tug open the door. “We’ll talk tomorrow okay?” In the next moment he’s gone and the door’s closing once more.

The exhaustion from before smothers him, and Dean tries not to think about the clenching in his gut as he slips off his shirt, shoes, and jeans and climbs between cool sheets. Sleep consumes him within minutes and Dean dreams about his brother and little else.

*

Sam wakes as the sun’s rising. Which isn’t too bad by itself but since he only fell asleep three hours ago, it’s not working out to well for him. It’s not unusual though – especially in the last four months – for Sam to try and function off a few restless hours of sleep a night. That’s pretty much what has led to Sam where here is now, sitting on Bobby’s front porch and contemplating his mistakes.

As the pre-dawn grey shifts to creamy orange and pink Sam’s eyes flicker to the Impala and his fingers itch for his keys. He could leave now, leave like Dean left him and not have to face whatever the day might bring, and Sam seriously considers it. If Dean could go, could disappear and restart his life, then why couldn’t Sam? Of course he had no idea what he could do to earn an honest income but Sam was hardly talentless, he could figure something out.

Then he remembers the brief moments of the night before, Dean’s heat flooding his senses, and he shakes his head slowly, subconsciously. Sam could never leave, not now. There were too many things left unspoken, and Sam wasn’t sure he could carry on this life with that forever hanging over his head. After all, the next hunt he might not be lucky enough to get away.

Sam had been careless, tired, and impatient before and the consequences showed. The real kicker was that he knew it was his fault. He had been the one to go back to his brother, to do those _things_ to his brother and honestly he was surprised Dean had even come. Though Sam knew – deep down in a place he’d buried so long ago – that Dean would always be there for his family if they asked. It was the reason he’d used his father being in trouble, and ultimately the reason Sam stayed planted to the cool brick step as the sun breeched the horizon.

“You’re up early,” Dean drops onto the step beside him, startling Sam, who blinks at him owlishly.

Sam doesn’t answer until he’s managed to calm the racing of his heart and he stares at Dean’s purple GTO as the words fall from his lips, “Not that you know my sleeping habits.”

He can feel the body beside him flinch and instantly regrets the words. It worries Sam just a little that his natural instinct is to shove Dean as far away as possible either with words or actual firm hands against his brother’s chest. And when Dean says, “you’re right,” softly into the early morning chill and begins to push up, Sam begins to panic.

Where instinct has him craving the security of solitude, the fleeting idea that Dean actually gives a damn ignites a hope he hasn’t felt for a decade. Before he can over think it – more – Sam’s hand shoots out to cover Dean’s arm and successfully stop him. “I’m not.”

“Excuse me?” Dean drops back down, eyes fixated on Sam’s skin against his.

For a brief moment Sam wonders if Dean’s flesh is tingling like his. “I’m not right. Or, I am, you don’t know my sleeping habits but I wasn’t right to say that. You don’t deserve it.”

A looks crosses Dean’s face, and Sam doesn’t have to be proficient in all things Dean to know his brother doubts his words. “So are you normally up this early?” Dean asks quietly and Sam feels the faintest pressure of a hand covering his.

At some point Sam thinks things are going to start making sense – including why Dean’s lips seem to be screaming to be kissed – but until then Sam figures he has no choice but to ride this rollercoaster. “More and more recently yeah.”

“Something’s keeping you up?” Dean’s voice is gentle and understanding and so unlike that of the teasing, joking brother that he knew growing up that Sam can only blink at him in astonishment. “What?” Dean asks with a curious head tilt.

“Who are you?” The words slip out before Sam can filter them and his heart stutters when Dean pulls his hand back, but not as much as it does when Dean’s next words hit him.

“Did I make you this cold?”

Sam had been beyond broken when Dean left. For the first few days he walked around in a mostly catatonic state; ignoring food, sleep, and his father in favor of sitting on the outside curb and staring down the street. He’d continually told himself that if he only waited long enough – patiently – that Dean would be back. It was only a matter of time.

When the seventh day came Sam woke curled on the itchy sofa to the sound of his dad slamming the trunk of the Impala. It was time to go and Dean wasn’t there. Sam had tried to reason with his father, insisted they needed to give him a few more days, but John Winchester was having none of it. So they left.

It took Sam three months to stop looking around them anxiously at every place they stopped. It took him a year to really accept that his brother was not returning for him. Sam was pretty sure he never stopped holding on to just the faintest hope that it was all some horrible nightmare he’d wake from given enough time.

Seeing Dean sitting next to him – the real Dean, all grown up and made of firm muscles and tanned skin – Sam couldn’t help wondering what world he woke up in. “Did I make you leave?” He answers Dean with a whispered question, staring down at his hands.

“What? God Sam no,” Dean shook his head quickly, hands coming out to grasp Sam’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes and hold it. “It was never that Sam. I wanted to take you away from that world; I wanted to show you how great things could be. That night… Sam I wanted you to come with me. I wanted to ask you but you never gave me the chance.”

Too many years have passed for Sam to recall the night clearly, he can only remember the pain and hurt, the tears he’d so desperately wanted to hide. “You wanted me to go with you?”

“Sammy…” the name comes out like a whisper and Dean lifts his hand, brings it to hover just over the curve of his jaw. Sam desires the touch too much not to dip his head just slightly and rest his head against the calloused skin. He watches the muscles in Dean’s neck tighten and relax with a swallow. “I never went a day without thinking about you.”

It’s almost more than Sam can handle and his heart works double time, his tongue darts out to wet suddenly dry lips. They move silently closer to each other and Sam can already tell this kiss is going to be different from the harsh, brutal kisses they had shared previously. Dean’s lips are like silk on his, warm and comforting, holding the truth behind his words.

Sam wants more – needs more – and he parts his mouth, silently granting Dean access to slip his tongue out, slowly tracing and mapping the offered area. A quiet moan passes between them as Dean’s fingers tangle up into his brother’s hair. Sam is torn between climbing into his brother’s lap and bringing Dean up to rest in his own. He’s settles for scooting closer, tilting his head for the best angle.

In the distance a dog barks and Dean pulls back from the kiss, catching Sam’s lower lip between his teeth and dragging it with him as they part. Sam’s eyes flutter closed when Dean brings their foreheads together, each taking deep breaths to make up for the previous lack of oxygen.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?” There’s a pretty wide selection of things Dean can say at this point but there’s very few that Sam thinks he can actually handle.

“We’ll talk about things later, right?”

Sam can only nod. He knows the conversation is inevitable, as many are really, but he’s glad Dean’s settled with not traveling that path now. Just in case Dean’s impatience for understanding takes hold – which wouldn’t be unlikely – Sam brings their lips together once more.

They break some time later when the sound of pans clattering inside the house reaches them. Both boys stare wide eyed at each other for a moment and Sam whispers, “You don’t think he saw…?”

“I think we’d know if he saw,” Dean rationalizes and pushes up from the step, letting Sam’s hair fall from his fingers with a wistful sigh. “See you inside?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods and watches his brother until the door closes behind him. His gaze turns back to the Impala, the rays from the morning sun reflecting off the chrome. Heat is still thrumming through him from Dean’s kisses, and a sigh falls from his lips. Sam considers why things feel more complicated than they had when he’d first come outside, and he doesn’t move until Bobby calls his name.

*

When Dean steps out of the shower, he can hear raised voices echoing up the stairs and a frown etches his face. A flicker of paranoia has him rushing through throwing his clothes on – what if Bobby had seen them? What if he was just waiting to get them apart to confront each individually? Dean was fairly certain Bobby didn’t know about his chosen lifestyle but the man always seemed to be smarter than expected and it was hard to say what he was aware of.

What Dean wants – again – is to take Sam from this place and disappear. There are enough hunters out there that losing one isn’t going to make that much of a difference. He thinks he could convince his brother pretty easily – or he hopes, because as Sam had pointed out, Dean really doesn’t know him anymore. It seems he’s constantly finding himself surprised with the way his brother acts, the things he says. Lying about their father being in trouble? That doesn’t seem like anything the Sammy he used to know would do.

Dean takes the steps two at a time after a loud crash shakes the house around him. “God I can’t leave you two alone-“ rounding the corner, Dean’s words die in his throat. “Dad.”

It’s possibly the last person Dean expects to see, though really he shouldn’t be surprised. His eyes dart from his father – when did he get so old? – to Bobby and finally to Sam – who’s looking guilty and thus confirming Dean’s suspicions.

“Hello Dean,” John’s voice is rough, hoarse, and stirs up more memories then Dean can even imagine.

It has been ten years since he saw this man, heard his voice, and Dean’s anger boils to a breaking point. “So this is why you asked me here?” He looks at Sam with betrayed eyes. “What game are you playing, Sam?”

“Don’t take that tone with your brother,” John reprimands. “He’s done nothing to deserve that. Sam’s worked hard to get to this place.”

“Great, nice to see you too Dad,” Dean snaps and spins on his heels, crossing the room back to the stairs.

“Dean, what are you doing?” John’s words carry the weight of disappointment and Dean hesitates with his hand on the railing.

“I’m leaving. There’s no reason for me to stick around for this shit,” Dean shakes his head and half turns to look at the three mean in the room. “What could you possibly want from me Dad? I’m not apologizing, and I’m not hunting. I have my life. And I don’t know what Sam told you to get you here but it was a waste of your time.”

“I didn’t-“ Sam starts but Bobby cuts him off.

“Now god damnit Dean Winchester you get your ass back in here.” He huffs loudly and Dean finds himself turning and taking three small steps back into the room. Bobby’s really not the type of person you disobeyed, especially if he was already annoyed with you. “I told John to come here just like I sent Sam to your town for that hunt.”

“You what?!?” Dean and Sam screech at the same time, jaws dropping as they stare at the older man.

Bobby chuckles and shakes his head, “Yeah that’s right, I gave John the hunt and had him send it along to you Sam, and yeah, I knew your brother was there. Just like I called John as soon as I knew Dean was on his way here.”

“He said you were in trouble,” John cuts in, eyes narrowing at his friend. “Should have guessed you were up to something Singer. Sam knows how to take care of himself.”

“It’s about time you three have a long talk,” Bobby drops down into a chair, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankle and pulling his shotgun into his lap with a smirk. “We can stay here all day if you’d like, I got time.”

Dean exchanges a look with his brother before sighing and folding his arms across his chest, settling himself in for a conversation he’d never planned on having.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

It takes a half hour for any real conversation to begin. Dean has positioned himself against the wall, trying to surreptitiously scan his brother to make sure he’s alright. He wants to apologize for instantly laying the blame on him but knows doing it in front of his father and Bobby will spark too many questions. After all, in his father’s eyes, Dean and Sam might as well be strangers, even if Dean feels like they’re everything but.

Surprisingly, Sam is the first one to speak and maybe it’s just a testament to how he’s matured, grown into his own, but his voice never wavers and he meets both Dean and his father’s eyes, one right after another. “Is this the part where you both blame each other for how fucked up I’ve become? Because if it is, I think I’ll wait outside.”

“You’re not fucked up,” John insists before Dean can form the words. The contradiction hangs in the air like a foul smell, an untruth, a lie that everyone’s aware of with no intention to correct. Sam does have issues, and they’re big, major, and could possibly get him killed if something doesn’t happen soon to fix them.

“I’d say it’s pretty obvious,” Sam shrugs and crosses the room to stand by the front window, fingers smudging along the dirty glass. Dean watches him, aches to step up behind him and pull him close. Sam’s next mumble is just a whisper and he stares down at the dirt seeping into his skin, rubs it together between his forefinger and thumb. “You all think it; hell Bobby went so far as to bring you both here to discuss it. Poor little Sammy. Raised in a harsh, cold, world; abandoned by his brother. Maybe he’s out of his mind, taking too many risks, fuck maybe he’s even suicidal. So how do we fix him? How do we make him all better? That’s what it all boils down to right? You’d both rather focus on me and my issues than accept that fact that you’ve both fucked up your own lives beyond repair.” By the time he finishes the words are flowing in a rush, escalated and punctuated with each lift and rise of his arms.

Dean blinks in surprise, darting a look to his father to see a similar expression cross his face. Words chase each other through his mind and Dean really has no idea where to begin. His father speaks up before he has the chance to decide on the best approach to Sam’s outburst. Of course his words are just as surprising as Sam’s were and Dean wonders if he’s ever going to be able to catch up mentally. “Sam, your brother didn’t abandon you. He just left to go his own way and you should respect him for that. It takes a lot to stand up for yourself.”

“What?” the lines in Sam’s brow pull together as he stares at their father. “Are you telling me that you and Dean fought constantly about him leaving, and you never spoke about him for years after, and yet your _proud_ of him? I was right. You’re more fucked up than me.”

“I’ve always wanted what’s best for you boys,” John says softly, voice gruff.

Dean can’t hold back the snort, though he’s completely unprepared to be part of the conversation yet. Both Sam and John turn to look at him and a heavy sigh falls from his lips. “You have a pretty messed up way of showing it. Sure, you let me go but you forced Sam into this life. You didn’t have a say in what I did because I was past eighteen but once Sam reached that point you held onto him tight and refused to let go right?”

“Maybe your brother isn’t like you Dean, have you considered that?” John turns on him, eyes narrowing with the words. “Maybe your brother _enjoys_ hunting, knows that he’s making a real difference in the world.”

“Sure, he enjoys it so much that he’s trying to get himself killed doing it!” Dean shot back, gesturing toward Sam with his words. “Look at him Dad! Have you ever seen him even smile? Did it occur to you that he was _never_ happy? I watched him change, every year he just got colder and colder and it was you who made it that way. You forced that life on us.”

“I gave you a place to lay your head; I provided nourishment and sent you to school. You had more than a lot of kids do, plus you know how to protect yourself in a tough situation. Now stop with this bull, Dean, because you know I raised you the best way I knew how. Both you and your brother.”

Dean meets Sam’s eyes and shakes his head slowly. “Sure Dad, if that’s what you want to call it. Raising us. Lord knows I spent more time raising Sammy than you ever did.”

“Yeah until you left and never called, never bothered to even see how I was, how _we_ were,” Sam interjects, words cold and sad, and Dean has to take a moment to reassure himself that they actually had a conversation that morning. He stares at his brother, eyes flashing, _did I make you this cold?_ It’s almost the answer that Dean never wanted to hear and he recoils as if he’s been struck.

“In the beginning your brother called every week,” Bobby’s voice is soft from the other side of the room and all three Winchester’s turn to him, knowin’ there’s more to come. “I’m sure you don’t remember but that’s why I was around so much more then. I never told either of you this, hell John, you thought I really needed your help on that case? Dean was constantly pesterin’ about you two.”

A blush crawls up Dean’s cheeks and he slides his palm across the back of his neck, looking down as he massages the tense muscles. “Bobby,” he says though it’s rather pointless. There’s no stopping the man once he’s got something to say, but Dean never intended his family to know this.

“And it’s been like that always,” Bobby went on, completely ignoring Dean, as was expected. “For the first year he called either once a week or every other. On your birthday Sam he called and begged for the info to where you all were but I didn’t know. Couldn’t help him. Even as the years passed it was always you he asked about. He never stopped carin’. Sam, your brother never abandoned you, his life took him one way and he couldn’t ignore that path any longer.”

They fall into silence as Bobby’s words echo around the room. Dean’s heart is racing – though he can’t pin point why – and he stares at the ground, not sure he wants to see the look on Sam or his father’s face.

“Well Singer, can’t say I’m surprised,” John shakes his head and Dean glances up quickly to see a fond smile dancing across his lips. “He’s right though boys, both of you. Everyone’s life is set on a certain road and sometimes you just have to go with it. For Dean, it was leaving. And for you Sam, it’s hunting.”

“But what if that’s not Sam’s road?” Dean interjects, glancing briefly at his brother before continuing on. “What if you’re just not letting Sam see what path he could go down?”

John sighs heavily and Dean can’t help but wonder how long it will take before his father snaps, no longer able to keep his cool with his eldest son. “Dean, you need to stop trying to control your brother’s life. He’s not a kid anymore, I don’t force him to continue hunting, it’s what he does. If he were to stop one day it would be of his own accord and I wouldn’t fight him on it.”

Dean gapes at his father. “You wouldn’t fight him on it? When every time I mentioned something even close to leaving you fought me on it?”

“Because you wanted to take Sam with you, and that wasn’t your place.” John snaps back and the tension in the room grows, mounts to the tingling familiarity of the last few months Dean had been around. “Now damnit Dean I’m not having this conversation with you any longer. You left because that’s what you wanted and I never tried to bring you back, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let you take Sam with you to live whatever reckless life you were heading into. I know you think Sam had it rough with me, but it would have been a hell of a lot harder with you. Did you think you could finish raising a boy when you were still a boy yourself?”

“It never stopped you from leaving us alone for days on end,” Dean steps forward into his father’s space, back stiff and defiant, not ready to let this topic drop. He has a chance to say everything he’s been holding in for so long. “I started raising Sammy the minute you put him in my arms and told me to go and not look back Dad. And I will _always_ care for him more than anyone else on this planet. I would have given up everything to give him a good life.”

“I’m not dead,” Sam’s voice is quiet but strong and Dean turns to him, blinking back the harsh bite of tears. “And not… not every part of my life has sucked. I wouldn’t be who I am today without _both_ of you. So can you please stop talking about me like I’m still fourteen years old? Because I’m not and Dad’s right, it’s my choice to continue to live this life. No one is forcing me.”

Dean deflates, falling back a few steps until his shoulders collide with solid wood and a heavy sigh falls from his lips. This time the conversation is over. Dean has no more to say now that he’s faced with the reality of his mistakes. He has always blamed his father for the way things had ended, even if he was the one who left, but when it came down to it, Dean is just as responsible, and he can no longer fool himself. “I’m sorry.” He says softly and rolls to the right, bones cracking as they stretch and push, staring at the wall for a moment before heading toward the staircase.

“Dean,” Sam whispers but Dean holds up his hand to stop him, slowly shaking his head. The tightening of his heart is too much so he just continues walking until he’s climbing up the stairs and even then the space between him and pain is not enough.

*

There are fifteen steps and five feet of hallway between Sam and his brother but it feels more like an endless abyss, completely impassable. He stares up to the second floor with sad eyes, turning phrases and thoughts over in his mind. It’s worse though, because he knows he has nothing to apologize for. Everything he spoke was the truth and he knows Dean would want nothing less from him.

“He ain’t comin’ down here on his own,” Bobby says softly, stepping up by Sam’s side and glancing up the staircase as well.

Sam sighs and reaches out to lay his hand across the railing, curling the worn wood under his palm. “Bobby? Do you think you and my Dad could go out for awhile? Give us some time to sort things out?” If Sam had any ulterior motives for his request he hid them well, looking at Bobby with the same sad eyes.

“Probably a good idea,” Bobby nods and turns from him, walking back through the living room to call upon John.

Sam waits until he can no longer hear the sound of tires on gravel and he’s certain the two older men are gone before taking the first step up. The door to the guest room Dean is staying in is closed, and Sam stands in front of it for a few minutes, trying to decide if he can handle the possible rejection that might come if he knocked first. In the end he chooses a quick rap on wood before turning on the knob and pushing the door open.

Dean is leaning against the window seal, staring out through grimy glass into the salvage yard below.

“Dad and Bobby left,” Sam says softly, figuring it’s as good a place as any to start. He briefly wonders if this is suggesting something to his brother, if the words come across with an undercurrent of proposition that he’d never intended. Sam can still – very distinctly – remember the way he didn’t give Dean much of a chance to object last time they found themselves alone in a bedroom, alone in a home.

“I know, I watched them leave,” Dean replies just as softly and his voice sounds so sad that Sam’s heart sinks painfully.

Making up his mind in a flash, Sam crosses the room quickly and gathers his brother in his arms, turning the smaller figure so they can collide chest to chest. There’s one cold, harsh moment where Sam thinks Dean will be nonresponsive, and then arms are curling under his, fingers tightening in the fabric along his back. “Dean…” he breathes, burying his nose into the man’s hair and letting his eyes fall close.

“I know Sammy. Sam.” Dean sinks heavily against Sam as if he can no longer hold himself up, as if the previously exchanged words have settled like a weight on his shoulders, pulling him down.

Stepping back until his calves touch the bed, Sam holds his brother tightly pulling him down onto the mattress and not minding in the least that Dean rested heavily on top of him. “Can I ask something of you? Will you do something for me?”

“Yes,” Dean nods and relaxes his body into the curve of Sam’s. It makes him chuckle, that Dean would be so quick to agree to whatever he might ask and for a moment Sam considers all the ways he could use that to his advantage.

He doesn’t though, just says what it is he finds he wants more than anything else. “Will you come with me?” Judging from the sharp inhale, he’s caught his brother completely off guard with the request. Considering some of the words they’d exchanged only hours ago, it doesn’t surprise him. “Maybe just for a little while? A few hunts? I really… I’d like you too.”

There a long stretch of time full of heavy silence and Sam holds his breath through most of it. He feels like everything is resting on Dean’s answer, whether Sam will have the motivation to continue living seems to hang in the balance of one word.

“Yes,” Dean pushes up to stare into Sam’s eyes and Sam gazes up into bright green with just the faintest smile. His heart picks up speed and his hand slides up around his brother’s neck, bringing their lips together in a slow, tender kiss.

Sam would say he has a fairly decent amount of experience in kissing people, and seldom few have ever felt the way it feels to kiss his brother. Mostly Sam tries not to think about the wrongs and rights, about the fact that they’re breaking laws and condemning their souls all in one delicious slide of tongues and lips. There’s a steady sort of heat burning through him and Sam knows no matter what the end result, these moments here – when he feels more alive than he ever remembers feeling before – are worth the illegal and immoral repercussions.

It’s easy to slip his fingers under Dean’s shirt, to trace the firm, silky expanse of skin and smile into their kiss when a sprinkling of gooseflesh crawls beneath the tips of his fingers. Moaning into Dean’s mouth when their hips slide together, Sam is all at once consumed with desire and want. Flashes of Dean naked under him, the curve of his ass, the arch of his back, work their way to the front of Sam’s memory and the moan intensifies with as Dean sinks his teeth into his lower lip.

“Sam…” Dean pulls back from the kiss, gasping slightly and rolling his hips.

“Yeah.” Sam pants and pushes his fingers further up Dean’s chest, relishing in the feel of warm skin beneath his palm. They both know that their time is limited, that their father and Bobby could come home at any time and catch them in a very compromising position. But it doesn’t stop Sam from rolling Dean under him.

Nothing bothering with undressing completely, Sam makes quick work with the buttons and zipper on Dean’s jeans, sliding them and the boxers down around his brother’s thighs, affectively trapping his legs together. Dean’s cock is already hard and swollen, brushing against his stomach and leaking slightly at the top. Sam wets his lips and looked up at Dean under his lashes.

“Can I…?” It feels almost odd asking for permission after everything that had passed between them already – most without vocal consent.

“Please,” Dean’s whisper is mixed with a groan and he reaches out to tangle his hands in Sam’s hair, urging him forward eagerly.

Sam wets hips lips before darting his tongue out to taste Dean’s flesh, savoring the musky heat that assaults his senses. It’s his first time giving a blow job and he’s mildly nervous about trying to impress his brother. The heavy weight of just the head of Dean’s cock feels odd in his mouth but not unpleasant and he sucks more in, stretching his lips to hollow around the flesh.

It’s a little awkward at first – Sam can’t take much in and tries to use his hand to make up the difference but doesn’t quite match up the right rhythm – but Dean’s loud moan and writhing hips tell him he must be doing a somewhat decent job so he keeps up with it. After the first few minutes his jaw begins to ache slightly so he alternates between using his tongue to drag along the hard flesh and jerking his hand up in rapid strokes, slipping his thumb over the slit and pressing softly.

The flush on Dean’s face is stunning, spread across his cheeks in high arcs, and Sam takes a moment to marvel. Dean is absolutely gorgeous, and although Sam’s known that for awhile, seeing him like this brings it to a whole new level of understanding. When he dips down to pull his brother back into the heat of his mouth, Dean moans a harsh, “ _Jesus_ ,” that shoots straight through Sam like a flash of pure _need_.

Sam works his way through varying techniques – sucking and licking, stroking and twisting – until Dean’s hips are constantly in motion, his head falling from side to side with heavy moans. Dean grunts some form of a warning and Sam hesitates for just a moment before opening his mouth wider and trying to relax his throat for what’s to come. He manages to swallow most of Dean’s load, dribbling some along his mouth and wiping at it with the back of his hand a moment later as he pulls up.

Dean’s eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls quickly with each shaky breath. Sam considers him for a long moment until his arm falls open in a silent invitation and Sam slides up his body, tucking against his side. “Was that…?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods quickly, eyes fluttering open to stare at him, the green so bright Sam sucks in a sharp breath in surprise. “My turn?”

“If you want,” Sam smirks, watching Dean attempt to pull up his denims and boxers with one hand.

“I do,” his brother smirks in return and readjusts them so he’s now on top.

*

“So are we ever going to talk about it?” Dean asks quietly around the beer bottle resting against his lips. His eyes dart quickly over to Sam in the darkness, watching his form shift on the couch with uncertainty.

“About? I’d say there’s quite a few topics we should probably discuss though aren’t really keen to.” Sam shrugs but Dean can tell from the tense flow to his words that Sam knows exactly what they don’t seem to be talking about.

He twists the bottle between his fingers for a few minutes, letting them both have some time to prepare for the coming conversation. Dean almost wishes they could just let it slide, pretend there wasn’t layers of unspoken heavy tension and poor choices between them but he knew it was no use. If it wasn’t now it had to be later and no amount of sweeping it under the rug would keep it hidden forever. “About that night you came back to my place.”

Dean can remember the feel of Sam buried in him distinctly – dreams of it on a pretty regular basis – and just mentioning it now tightens the muscles in his lower abdomen. He will never be angry at his brother for crossing that line, but for leaving the way he did and disappearing for four long and lonely months, is an entirely different thing.

“Should I apologize?” Sam asks quietly and he scrubs the heel of his hand against his eye, glancing around the dark house. “Is this really the place for this conversation?”

“They’re both asleep.” Dean gestures vaguely to the upper floor where both Bobby and his father are tucked away inside separate rooms. “Seems like as a good a place as any.”

Sam’s sigh is low and long, full of the weight of the moment and he drops back into the couch, spine curving into the cushion. “I fucked up. I did something that changed everything between us and there’s no going back from that. Hell, I don’t want to go back from it and I’m thinking you don’t either.”

“It’s not that, Sam and you know it,” Dean shakes his head and pulls long from his beer. “I’d say it’s plenty obvious we don’t want to take what happened back. It’s what happened after.”

“I know,” this time Sam’s whisper is soft and sad, lonely even, and Dean reaches out to lay a hand on his thigh and squeeze. “Dean, when I was with you, when I _am_ with you, I feel more alive… it’s like all the pain dims, like I can handle living on this planet just a little longer. Without you it’s just dark and grey. I never even realized it until we… well after the tape and then the…”

Dean chuckles, wondering if they’ll ever reach a phase were they can actually discuss what’s happened between them. He hopes so, because Dean’s always had a kink for talking about just such things – or more – and it’s something he’d very much like to share with Sam. “Alright I get it, the kiss.”

“Right, that.” Sam nods. “But, Dean, I was still so angry with you, for leaving, for how you left. I wanted to leave that way too. I wanted to go and never come back and make you feel just a fraction of what I felt.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. I came back.” Sam bites his lower lip briefly before continuing. “God Dean, when everything happened… you know I never planned on it happening that way. Hell, I never planned on it happening period. But when I saw you, it was the only thing I could think of that I wanted. So I took it. And then…”

“Then you left,” Dean offers, squeezing the muscle beneath him once more in encouragement. Sam was finally opening up to him and Dean could feel the relief bubbling through him. They could do this, him and Sam, they could actually _be_ something.

“Right.” Sam nods again and this time turns to meet Dean’s eyes as he speaks. “I freaked. Who wouldn’t have right? I thought in the morning you’d realized what happened and kick me out. I didn’t want to be rejected by you, and so I did what we Winchester’s do best, I left. I’m sorry.”

This makes more sense to Dean than it probably should and he smiles softly, lifting his hand to cup Sam’s face in his palm. “I forgive you,” he breathes, bringing them together for a soft, chaste kiss. “Let’s just promise to not do that anymore okay? Because we may be Winchester’s but I don’t think we’re completely above change.”

Sam chuckles and rests their foreheads together, sharing the same air in the inches between their lips. “I think we can definitely work on it.” His tongue comes out to trace along the curve of Dean’s lower lip slowly.

Dean’s next breath is shaky, and he curls his fingers around Sam’s shoulder, holding him steady. “You have no idea how much I wish I could just take you here.”

“I have some idea,” Sam nods wisely, hands dancing along Dean’s back. “Though I’d rather not imagine the reactions of Dad or Bobby.”

“You never know with Bobby,” Dean chuckles and lets his hand slip under Sam’s collar to trace the sharp bone there. “He’s a pretty open minded kind of guy.”

“Dean, no one’s _that_ open minded,” Sam sprinkles kisses along the edges of his lips, whispering between each one.

A soft sigh falls from him as his eyes flutter closed. “Oh I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I’ve seen things, heard things, we’re not the only freaks out there.”

“Good to know,” Sam breathes and presses a final, lingering kiss to Dean’s lips. “We should go to bed. Bobby promised to hand over some case info in the AM and we’ll probably want an early start.”

Dean can’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut at the idea of going on an actual case after so many years, but he’d promised Sam and he knows it is important. After all, Dean wants to make this work and the only way to do that is to make sacrifices. He’d just have to work with Sam on giving up some things as well, because Dean is not prepared to go back to this life for good.

“So I’ll see you in the morning?” Sam asks quietly, squeezing the muscles on his lower back before pushing up from the couch.

“You will,” Dean smiles and watches him go, heart lurching in his chest when Sam throws him one final, dazzling smile before climbing up the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

The hunt is in Colorado and Bobby estimates it will take them thirteen or so hours to drive there. After three rounds or rock, paper, scissors, it’s decided they’ll leave Dean’s GTO at Bobby’s and pick it up once they’ve taken care of what should be an in and out job. Dean’s not really looking forward to it – nearly changes his mind five before they’re ready to leave – but he isn’t ready to lose Sam again so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Just your standard haunting,” Bobby offers, slamming the trunk of the Impala shut and looking up at Dean. “Should be a simple salt and burn of the remains.” The man glances toward his house before adding anything more. “You sure you want to do this Dean?”

“No,” Dean sighs and throws his duffel in the back seat of the car. “In fact I’m sure it’s the last thing I want to do. But I have to.”

“Not really,” Bobby disagrees but doesn’t press the issue.

Dean wants to though, wants to ask Bobby what he could possibly do to make things work between him and Sam without doing this, but it would raise too many questions. So he simply steps up to the driver’s side, leaning against the warm metal as he watches his brother and father emerge from the front door.

They embrace, arms tightening around similar broad shoulders, and Dean can hear John’s warning to be careful. When Sam steps back and turns to him, keys clutched in his palm, he laughs and shakes his head. “No way dude, you’re not driving my car.”

“It’s your fault we’re leaving my car here,” Dean mutters and shifts away from the door, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as his eyes land on his father.

“No, it’s your fault you fail at rock, paper, scissors,” Sam snorts and pulls open the door, hesitating a moment as he turns back to cast worried eyes between Dean and his father. “We’d better hit the road if we want to get there before the sun sets.”

Dean nods stiffly and steps forward to hold out his hand. In truth, Dean’s not sure when the next time he’ll see his father will be – had never planned on seeing him again in the first place – and Dean would rather just put the whole unpleasant experience behind him. John has other things in mind though and Dean doesn’t have time to prepare himself before he’s tugged forward against his father’s firm chest.

John’s arms are like a vice around him and just the shortest inhale of his scent slams memories of a childhood Dean would rather forget to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t bring his arms up to complete the embrace but as his father steps back, Dean let’s his hand fall on the man’s shoulder and he meets John’s eyes.

“I’ll always be your father,” John’s whisper is soft and gruff and sinks to the pit of Dean’s stomach like a weight.

With a forced nod Dean wets his lips, “And I’ll always be your son.” He drops his hand to his side and turns from the man, heading around his car, slapping Bobby’s arm as he goes. “See you soon Bobby, try not to burn the place down while we’re gone.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bobby chuckles as Dean slides onto the warm leather of the front seat. “Drive safe.”

“We will,” Sam nods and climbs behind the steering wheel, slamming the door behind him.

They drive the first ten miles in silence before Sam’s hand crosses the bench seat and a finger hooks in Dean’s belt loop, tugging sharply. Dean blinks at Sam for a moment, dropping his foot from the dash where it had been perched and shifting slightly to face him. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. For putting up with Dad and not doing anything stupid. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but he’s really missed you.” Sam worries his lower lip between his teeth and Dean can’t help but wonder if he’s concerned that just this line of discussion will cause more unnecessary tension between.

Dean slides across the leather and curves his body against Sam’s side, tucking himself under his brother’s right arm. He doesn’t speak until he’s found just the right curve of muscle along Sam’s thigh to lay his hand across, thumb sliding along the denim in slow circles. “I know Dad will always care for me. But Sam, it’ll never be the way it was before. It can’t be the three of us together on a hunt or anything. Before yesterday I thought I’d never see him again.”

“You never thought you’d come back?” Sam curls his arm around Dean’s side, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt and brushing the sensitive skin there.

“No.” Dean slowly shakes his head, squeezing the muscle beneath his hand when Sam’s body tenses. “I left this life Sam and I’m going with you now, for this one hunt, because we need some time to sort things out, but it’s not me anymore. I’m not a hunter.”

“Then why are we even pretending that this is something that can happen?” Sam’s voice isn’t as cold as Dean expects, just sad and tired. His fingers flatten against Dean’s skin, stroking in slow rainbow arcs.

Dean doesn’t think he can even entertain the idea of losing Sam again and isn’t ready to have this conversation yet. Of course there’s no way of avoiding it now that it’s been brought up. They’re both stuck in the car for the next thirteen hours and who knows how many days after that, so Dean figures they might as well clear the air between them before anything else can happen to change them. “There’s a lot about this that probably shouldn’t happen.” Dean breathes, rubbing the side of his face against Sam’s shirt.

Sam’s fingers falter for a moment on his skin and Dean can feel his breath hitch. “And?”

It occurs to Dean after a moment that Sam is scared that Dean’s going to leave again, which really is a logical feeling to have but doesn’t hurt Dean any less. “And that doesn’t mean we can’t figure something out. Sam, I know you said this was the life you wanted, but is it really? No permanent home? All alone on the road all the time? Look at how it’s made Dad.”

“It’s the only way I’ve ever known Dad,” Sam points out and Dean expects him to withdraw in on himself but he doesn’t, simply trails his fingers further up Dean’s side, shirt riding up his waist.

“Doesn’t make any difference,” Dean shivers slightly at the touch. “The point is you’re not him and you don’t have to be. The sooner you realize that the better.”

Sam falls into silence and they drive that way for a long enough period of time that Dean finds himself slipping into the warm black haze of sleep.

*

When Dean wakes his head is pillowed on Sam’s thighs and his spine is stiff from the odd way it’s been twisted while he slept. If Dean were the kind of guy who listed the pro’s and con’s of a situation, then waking up to Sam’s semi hard bulge right in his line of sight would clearly fall on the _pro’s_ side – and be well worth any discomfort. He slides his eyes up without moving his head, gazing into his brother’s face curiously.

Sam is staring out the windshield and humming softly, left hand curled around the steering wheel, right hand resting on the dip of Dean’s waist. He’s not smiling but he looks happy, more relaxed than Dean remembers seeing him in their short time of being reacquainted. The worries and doubts he’s been secretly harboring during the development of this entire, whatever, crawl to the forefront of his thoughts, demanding his attention.

Dean would rather not over analyze them right now though so he shoves them forcefully back and slowly works his head forward until his lips connect with rough fabric. He hesitates for a moment, waiting to see if his brother notices the movement, but there’s no change in his reclining position so Dean contemplates his next move. He lets his jaw fall open before pushing hard against Sam’s crotch and mouthing just on the edge of rough.

“Shit.” Sam gasps and the car swerves for a moment before both Sam’s hands fall heavily on the wheel, holding it steady. His eyes flicker down to Dean for just a moment before darting back up to the road. “Dean, what the hell?”

“Would you rather I not?” Dean asks, not caring in the slightest if his tone sounds just along the edge of snarky. He can tell just by the flush already working its way up his brother’s cheeks – the way his cock has shifted from semi hard to mostly interested – that Sam isn’t going to put up much of a protest. “Because I can stop…” he draws out the words even as his hand comes up to tug at the denim until he can free the button and slowly drag down the zipper.

Sam makes a noise low in his throat and rocks his hips slightly, helping Dean pull down his jeans until they’re halfway off his ass. A smirk tugs at the corner of Dean’s lip as reaches between the fabric of Sam’s boxers and pulls out the heavy weight of him, sliding his fingers up along the silky skin. His eyes linger on the firm line of Sam’s jaw as he leans forward to circle just the head of his cock with his tongue, dipping into the slit to gather the already forming precome.

The engine revs and the car’s speed increases for just a moment before Sam manages to get it back under control. Dean smirks once more as he forms a ring around the head of his brother’s cock, applying just a slight amount of pressure. Sam’s hand drops from the wheel to tangle in his hair, tightening almost painfully. “Dean…” he groans and squeezes his fingers.

Dean enjoys the heavy weight against his tongue as he slides down, only able to make it about halfway due to the awkward angle. He loses himself in the musky taste of his brother, inhaling sharply through his nose until it feels as if Sam is encircling every part of him. The noises falling from his brother’s lips are the final straw and Dean can’t resist shoving his hand down to his own painfully hard crotch and rubbing forcefully.

“Fuck.” Sam hisses and the car swerves, this time completely off the road and Dean has a momentary flicker of panic that he’s going to be singularly responsible for the death of both him and his brother. Death by blow job, what a way to go. “Get out.” Sam growls when they pull to a stop, laying his palm flat against Dean’s head and shoving.

Dean blinks in shock at him, heart lurching, until he’s sitting up and staring out bug splattered glass at a dingy looking motel. The hard lines of a frown shift up into a broad grin and he fumbles for the door handle. The door’s half way open – he’s halfway out – before he turns back to Sam with unsure eyes. “What about…?”

“The ghost isn’t going anywhere,” Sam shrugs and works on tucking himself back in his underwear. “Get a room.”

Dean doesn’t protest any more because if Sam wants it – and Dean definitely wants it – then they should both just _have_ it. It’s probably one of the biggest lessons Dean has learned since leaving his family. Winchester nature is to self sacrifice but there really is no harm in indulging yourself occasionally.

The man behind the desk gives him just the slightest raised eyebrow, and Dean knows his gaze is flickering to Sam now leaning against the driver’s side. “Two beds?” He asks, voice gruff and nearly challenging.

If Dean wasn’t so eager to resume his previous endeavors with his brother as soon as possible, he might have met that challenge. But the guy looks a little like someone who might come banging down their door with a shot gun should he find out they’re _together_ so Dean doesn’t push his luck and mumbles, “Two queens if you’ve got them.”

They do – thank god because Dean doesn’t think they’d be able to fit on a full – and five minutes later Dean’s emerging from the office swinging a key between his fingers. Sam pushes back from the car and wets his lips. There is just a moment where their eyes meet and something unspoken passes between them. Want, need, _love_. It only takes a drag of Sam’s tongue across his lips to renew that interest in Dean’s crotch and he quickens his steps, stopping short at door twelve.

When Sam slams him against the door this time it’s so unlike the last time – and not just the location – that Dean allows himself a moment to take it all in. Sam’s lips are full of all those things his eyes held moments ago and it’s the _love_ that hits him the hardest. Dean has always loved his brother, even if not on this level, and it hits him then how their transition to something _more_ will feel, does feel, closer to a step than a leap.

Dean’s not so drunk – or shocked – this time around so he only let’s his brother control the situation for a few minutes of tongues colliding, hips grinding before he takes control. With a hard step forward they’re moving across the motel room, stumbling over a rug, bumping against the dresser, all the while fingers fisting in cotton. Dean’s shirt is up and over his head, tossed carelessly across the room and Sam’s quickly follows suit. Their lips continue to wreck havoc against each other as both boys work the other’s button and fly.

By the time they collapse onto the bed Dean’s sliding naked along Sam’s body, cocks grazing like an explosion of heat through him. Dean has a distinct moment of _toomuch_ followed quickly by _notenough_ before Sam’s large hand cups the back of his neck and drags him down for another brutal kiss. The lack of oxygen is going straight to his brain, affecting his ability to coherently process any of Sam’s mumbled words moaned into their sliding mouths.

He loses track of how it happens, just vaguely registers being flipped over onto his stomach, Sam’s fingers plunging in, stretching him. Dean doesn’t even _try_ to determine what the man uses for lube. He does clearly remember wanting to point out to his brother that he’s generally the one who tops. But well… Sam’s not likely to have experienced that before and they don’t necessarily have the time or supplies to pop that cherry, so Dean stays silent on the subject, stores it away for later.

Then Sam’s pressing full and burning into him and Dean’s brain shuts down the rest of the way. His legs are spread open and Sam fits so well in between, holding onto Dean’s hips like anchors. Dean buries his head in a pillow to muffle his moans, falling onto his forearms when the muscles in his upper arms threaten to give out.

There’s about a million clichés Dean could use to describe what Sam thrusting into him feels like – burning, raw, so _fucking_ right. When the tip of his brother’s cock slams into his prostate, Dean’s about ten steps from exploding his load without even being touched.

“Sam,” He gasps and struggles to stretch his arm down to his aching shaft, falling down onto his shoulder and giving Sam room to slide impossibly deeper.

Dean’s going to come any minute, can feeling it building up inside him. So when his fingers curl around his dick and squeeze, and Sam brushes his prostate again, grunting a distinct, “Fuck Dean,” that’s it for him.

Red hot flashes spark across his vision with each forward thrust of his hips into his palm and he shoots along his fingers and the bed. Just as he’s finishing, Sam’s beginning. Pounding into his ass in quick rapid motions with each wave of his release. The noises Sam makes as he comes are almost as good as the rough slide in and out and Dean shudders with a last little wave of pleasure.

Sam collapses heavily on him and they fall onto the mattress in a heap. Dean allows them to lay that way until their breathing has returned to normal, before knocking his shoulder up in effort to dislodge the man. “Dude, I’m laying in my own cum and that’s just… sick.”

Rolling off him and barking out a harsh laugh, Sam flops down hard on the vacant half of the bed. “Irony, thy name is Dean Winchester.”

Dean shoves up with unsteady arms and stares at his brother for a moment, “When did you learn to use the big words?”

“Thy is not a big word.” Sam snorts and allows Dean to drag him up off the mattress, stumbling toward the bathroom. “Dean.”

Stopping because his brother says his name in a way that means something more than casual, Dean half turns for a moment’s consideration. Sam looks apprehensive and if he were to speak Dean is sure he’d be saying something like, _‘was that better than last time because I need to know you don’t hate me forever for practically raping you before.’_

“Sammy…” he whispers and steps in to the taller form, tilting his head up to slide their lips together softly. If Dean were to speak the kiss would say, _’I love you,’_ and he considers actually forming the words but the way his brother’s lips draw up into a bright smile that dances along his eyes, he knows it goes without being said.

*

 _She’s running so hard the blood is pounding in her ears and her muscles demand the shaky gasps of oxygen, so there’s no room left to scream. Every half dozen steps her head whips around, scanning the darkness. She knows it’s there, probably closer than it appears to be, but her eyes find nothing and she slowly comes to a halt. Walking with her hands folded behind her neck, she inhales sharply, leaning heavily against the ‘Welcome to Evans, Colorado’ sign._

 _After several moments of nothing but silence, a shaky sigh of relief falls from her aching throat and she lets her eyes fall closed. It’s apparently gone, for now, and she allows herself a minute to calm the fear in her heart._

 _Then, “You can’t leave me Isabel.”_

 _Her heart lurches with the words and she opens her eyes just in time to see the ax before it connects with her flesh and there’s the briefest moment of pain before the world goes black._

Sam sits up in bed with a gasp, blinking away the last wisps of the images of the girl being killed and shaking off the feeling that it was more than a dream.

*

“Coffee, lover,” Dean slides the Styrofoam cup across the table, dragging his hand through Sam’s hair as he stares down at the map spread open across the wood surface.

Sam’s gaze flickers up for a moment and he arches an eyebrow before repeating with a flare of mockery, “Lover? Are you really gonna start calling me that?”

Dean chuckles and drops onto the other chair tucked under the table. “Only when I know it’ll annoy you.” He grins and drinks from his cup before letting his hand fall on the map and tap curiously. “Did you figure out the best route?”

“Yeah we take I-25 and it shoots us right through the state,” Sam trails a finger along the bright red line of the interstate, hesitating after a moment when something catches his eye. “Evans…”

“Hmm?” Dean hums as he drains the cup and pushes up to gather the duffel bag. He’d made Sam retrieve it from the car the night before, in between rounds two and three. “You’ve got Detective Winchester face.”

“Lame,” Sam mumbles as an insult, but it comes out sounding more like a question and Dean pauses in his quest for his jacket to stop and look over at him.

“Sam?”

“You know, I think we should…” Sam rises from the table and folds the map, stuffing it in his back pocket. “We should get on the road, you know, before much more time passes.”

Dean watches him head toward the door, eyebrows furrowing together when he disappears out into the morning sunshine, leaving the door open behind him.

*

Dean tries not to spend too much time over-thinking his brother’s silence. But with every passing mile he can _feel_ the separation between them, as real as the stretch of tangible air filling the space on the bench seat. He half starts at least a dozen sentences before giving up and reaching out to turn up the volume on the radio. Leaning against the car door, Dean lets his mind flicker over the previous night’s events, searching for what he’s done to create this sudden chasm.

Just about the time he’s drifting off to sleep, the slowing of the car has him looking up. They’re taking exit forty-two east toward a town called Greeley/Evans. A frown pulls his lips down and he turns to glance at Sam. “Where are we going?”

“I just… have to check something out.” Sam shrugs and doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes even though Dean watches him the full half hour it takes to get into town.

They drive down random roads for two hours before Sam pulls quite suddenly into a library, parking the Impala and stepping out without an explanation. Dean’s getting a little more than annoyed with this whole thing. “Sam,” he calls, voice layered with irritation as he steps out of the car and slams the door behind him.

Sam simply keeps walking until he’s disappeared inside the building. Dean considers going after him but doesn’t, instead he turns and heads for the 7-11 across the street. He runs over the last twelve hours with a fine tooth comb and can’t even begin to figure out what the hell he’s done to piss off his little brother. But if Sam keeps this up, Dean’s not going to let it slide and they might as well be back where they started.

*

The idea that Sam could have had a _dream_ that led them to this city is ridiculous, and Sam knows that. Because it was just a dream and maybe a testament that he really has spent far too long devoting his life to this type of work. He thinks that maybe Dean is right about giving it all up, even as his eyes skim over old newspaper articles looking for… well, he’s not really sure. Something, anything that suggests the gut feeling consuming him might be right.

After three hours his eyes are burning and he’s just about to give up when the name _Isabel_ catches his attention. The article is almost a hundred years old and details the violent death of a young woman at the hands of a jealous lover. The picture is what has him doing a double take though. She looks exactly like girl from his dream, if a little less modern, and it can’t just be a coincidence.

“Sam? What the hell are you looking for?” Dean falls heavily against the desk next to him and Sam starts, looking up at him in surprise. It’s not so much that he forgot Dean was with him, more that he is so very used to doing this alone.

“A hundred years ago a man catches his wife having an affair and kills her,” Sam points down to the article on the screen. “Then kills himself. Now there just happens to be a girl who looks _exactly_ like her and the scorned lover has come back to kill her again.”

Dean’s eyebrows arch and Sam’s not really that surprised. The logic sounds shaky even to him. “So… what? The dead guy’s attached to her physical image? Not possible Sam. Did this girl tell you she’s being haunted?”

Sam groans and drags a hand through his hair. “No. Yes. Something must have happened to trigger it. We need to find her.” He clicks again on the screen, enlarging the image of the long-dead girl and sending it to the printer. “Pretty sure there’s still time.”

“Still time?” Dean walks with him over to the printer. “The ghost comes with a dead line? Has this happened before?”

“I don’t… yeah. That’s it,” Sam nods jerkily and drums his fingers along the printer impatiently. He feels a little sick to his stomach because if this is true, then his dream was less of a dream and more of a vision and people don’t have visions. Sam doesn’t have _visions_. Snatching the picture the moment it’s done, Sam crosses quickly to the reference desk and holds it out. “Excuse me? Does this girl look familiar to you?”

The woman behind the counter has short, spiky brown hair and a bored expression. She snaps her gum and leans forward, looking at the photo. “Dude. That picture is like, old.”

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes hard. “Yes. I realize that. Can you please just answer the question?”

“No. Jesus, you don’t have to be such a bitch.” She turns her back on him, pushing out of the chair and walking away from the desk.

Dean’s hand falls down hard on his shoulder and Sam flinches, glancing at him for a moment before shrugging away from the touch and heading toward the door. “We need to find her Dean. I don’t think she has much time left.”

“Okay, we’ll find her Sammy, just… try not to piss off all the locals. You never know with these small towns,” Dean tries for a smile but Sam can’t bring himself to return it. The gnawing in his gut has taken on a new level of intensity, and Sam sets off for his car, determined to put an end to this whole thing as quickly as possible.

*

The sun is setting and they’ve had no luck in locating the mystery girl. Sam is on the edge of panic when he turns a corner, and the street strikes him as oddly familiar. He slams on the brake, sending Dean falling forward and slapping a hand hard on the dash. “Fuck Sam. Are you trying to break my nose?”

“I know this…” he trails off and yanks the keys out of the ignition, kicking open the door and stepping out onto the grassy sidewalk. There’s a distant noise, almost like a scream, down the street and Sam yanks open the backdoor to grab his shot gun and rock salt shells before taking off toward it.

“Sam? What is it?” Dean jogs after him a moment later, but Sam shushes him quickly.

This time the scream is much louder and coming from an old decrepit house. Sam doesn’t even hesitate, takes the front steps two at a time and kicks open the door. Across the room stands _the_ girl and a vague, cloudy figure of a man in torn clothing. Sam unloads both rounds into the ghost and it vanishes in a puff of smoke. “Are you alright?” He steps forward with a raised arm.

Dean slams into his back, gun at the ready. “Where’d he go?”

Sam ignores him and crosses to the girl. “Miss? Are you okay?”

She’s shaking, staring at him with wide eyes. “What _was_ that?” When Sam opens his arms – almost on instinct because her lower lip is trembling and her shoulders are shaking – she steps forward and folds herself against his chest.

“Don’t worry, he’s gone now. You’re safe with me- us. We’ll take care of it.” He doesn’t glance back at his brother, doesn’t want to know if his slip up will flash pain across his expression. Really, Sam’s just not used to having someone else with him.

“I knew you’d come Samuel,” the girl whispers and Sam’s shoulders stiffen. Taking a step back he finds himself looking down into solid black eyes.

“Wha…” a cold chill runs down his spine when the thin pink lips curl up into a gleaming grin.

“You Winchesters are nothing short of predictable,” she giggles then two firm hands plant themselves on either side of his chest and shove hard enough that he knows there will be tiny finger shaped bruises later.

Sam stumbles back, arms wind milling to try and gain his balance. The floor beneath him creaks and he has one horrible moment where Dean is screaming his name, a cloud of black is flowing from the mouth of the girl, and then the floor gives and he falls. Pain shoots up his spine, through his system, and he cries out before black blurs his vision and he’s dragged under.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

Judging from the machine beeping to the left of him, Sam decides falling through the floor wasn’t a dream. It’s confirmed when one little shift of his hips sends pain racketing up his body and he gasps, eyes blinking open.

“Sam,” Dean’s there in a flash, hands curling around Sam’s, bright green eyes blinking down into his with worry and concern.

It takes more effort than it should to turn his head and blink at his brother. “Shouldn’t I… isn’t there pain medicine?” He groans and looks around the bright white hospital room. Bits and pieces of the moment that landed him here, and the events that led up to it, slowly work through the haze of pain clouding his brain. Black eyes, a cold sneer, words echoing through his mind _I knew you’d come Samuel._

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Had he seriously had some ridiculous dream about this girl? One that turned out to be true in only in the vaguest sense of the word, and then this girl ends up being possessed? Sam doesn’t think he’s done anything to piss off any demons recently, but then again, he spends most of his time killing supernatural creatures so that’s bound to annoy someone at some point.

While he’d been lost in thought, Dean had gone off to get the nurse, and Sam blinks at them in relief when a jolt of numbness flows up his arm and through his body. “S’good…” he mumbles and nuzzles back down into his pillow, hand reaching out for his brother. “Dean?”

Dean’s face is hovering into his vision in the next moment, and Sam feels the distinct flutter of fingers across his bangs. “I’m here Sammy. Not going anywhere.”

“Kay…” Sam wants to tell him not to call their dad, not too blow this thing out of proportion, but darkness swims before his eyes before he can roll the words off his tongue.

*

“What the hell where you doing Dean? Why weren’t you lookin’ after him?” The distinct harshness of his father’s voice behind him wakes Sam and he slowly peels his eyes open to stare at the wall.

Dean’s return is just as sharp and cold, “I was looking after him. How was I supposed to know this girl was possessed? She tricked Sam into helping her, it was all a set up.” Something sank in the pit of Sam’s stomach.

“I taught you better than that son, you should have seen the signs.” John’s voice is rife with disappointment and Sam’s heart aches for his brother. When he was younger he’d hear his father talk this way to Dean and accept it simply as normality. But now he’s been on the receiving end of that tone more then once and he knows how it stings.

“There were no signs, dad. We thought it was a genuine haunting.” Sam can practically _feel_ Dean rolling his eyes along with the comment, and he realizes Dean hasn’t told the man the entire story.

There’s a moment of silence in which Sam is fairly certain Dean and their father are locked in an intense stare off, then John mutters, “Why were you two even there anyway? Wasn’t the case on the other side of the state?”

Sam holds his breath. He knows if Dean says a word about his random detour his father won’t hesitate in questioning him. Rapidly his mind flickers through answers, trying to determine what he could say that wouldn’t disappoint the man. But then Dean says, “I just needed some food. We over heard the story of a ghost sighting and thought we’d check it out.”

Why Dean has chosen to lie is lost on him. Sam wonders what his brother has made of the whole situation, and he knows their conversation regarding the real reason they went to that town is probably just around the corner. Now though, he figures it’s best to just roll over with a loud groan and let them know he’s awake, if only to save Dean any further disappointed sighs.

“Sam,” Dean hurries forward and John’s just a step behind him. They wear similar expressions of worry and concern, and for a moment Sam allows himself to pretend that they’re one big happy family.

“How you feelin’ son? Need some water?”

Sam watches his dad pour a glass of water and pushes himself up slightly. He doesn’t speak until he’s drained half of it, just to give himself a little more time to compose his erratic thoughts. “I feel like I fell through rotted wood and landed on a bed of nails.”

Dean’s answering smile is soft, fond, and his hand comes out to caress his hair, only to hover mid-motion and drop awkwardly to the mattress. “That sounds about right.”

“What’s the damage?” Sam asks, and tries not to wish his father wasn’t there. It’s no use though. No matter how much he loves the man, the desire to have Dean pull him close and hold him reassuringly outweighs it.

The two exchange a long look, and Sam knows it can’t be good, holds his breathe for the answer. “Couple of broken ribs, twisted ankle, fractured wrist. They thought there might be some head damage but they needed to wait until you came around completely to run a few more tests. Regardless, you’re gonna be out of commission for at least six weeks.” A flicker of sympathy crosses his father’s face, followed quickly by a grimace.

Sam allows a moment to take in the information. Six weeks. He could consider where he’ll go, what he’ll do, but he’s more caught up with the idea of living a normal life for almost two months. Since he’s never had an injury like this before, it’s almost a foreign concept. Twenty-four years of constantly moving from place to place, seeing things the average person couldn’t even begin to dream of, it’s all he’s ever known. Sam’s eyes flicker to Dean’s and he knows without saying a word that his brother understands the weight of it all, understands the implications. This could be his out.

Maybe he’d still hunt, later on when he’s healed completely and if a big case presented it self, but it didn’t have to rule his life any longer. The whole idea is too much for him to even think about, so he shoves it to the furthest part of his mind for later consideration.

“Don’t worry son,” John speaks up again, reaching out to pat Sam’s shoulder. “I’ve already talked to Bobby and he doesn’t mind you crashing there for a while, until you’re all better.”

Dean jumps in before Sam’s expression can shift to shocked. “Actually, I thought he’d come stay with me. I’ve got room, and I work during the day but well… I’m not going to be called away on any out of town business.”

Sam doesn’t look at his father, in case the hope and joy that sparks in his eyes is visible. He doesn’t want hear the man say it’s not a good idea so he says quickly, “I think that would be good. So when can I get out of here? Give me the papers to sign and let’s go.”

“Easy tiger,” Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “They still have to run those tests.” His hand makes another half start toward his head only to drop once more, this time squeezing Sam’s leg just above his knee. After a moment he clears his throat and raises his hand to scrub at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Alright, I’m gonna go get some coffee.”

Sam watches him go, eyes lingering on the empty doorway for a moment before trailing back to his father. The look on his father’s face is indecipherable and Sam wonders if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Knowing the man won’t comment on his thoughts, Sam allows himself to pretend that his father is proud that Dean’s stepping up once more to look after his baby brother. Even if the thought is accompanied with the pang of annoyance that his father would think he still needs looking after.

When roughly five minutes pass with neither of them saying anything, Sam decides to break the slightly awkward silence. “Dad? Dean’s plenty capable of taking care of me.”

“Not worried about that,” the man shakes his head and steps forward, hovers along the edge of the bed. If this wasn’t the father he grew up with and knew so well, he’d think the man almost looked nervous about whatever he might have to say. “Sam, there might… should something happen…”

“Dad?” Sam repeats again, leveraging himself up on the mattress with the slightest flinch and frowning deeply.

When his dad looks up at him, his eyes are the saddest Sam can ever remember seeing and he sucks in a sharp breath. After Dean had left, Sam had been so consumed with his own intense emotions, he’d never bothered to check on his father. But when he thinks back on it, he can remember the wrecked look that would cross his face whenever he thought Sam wasn’t paying attention. The look he’s wearing now is just one step worse than that.

“There’s going to come a point, son, when you have a choice to make,” the man says, voice steady despite the way his body seems to shake. “And I trust you to make the right one. To go down the right path. Because if you don’t… Sam… you’ll be consum-“

“Sorry it took so long,” Dean came around the corner carrying two cups of coffee, a muffin balanced on the lid of one, a donut on the other. “Pastries. Couldn’t resist.”

“I was just getting ready to go,” John slides back from the bed, but Sam’s still stuck on the chilling note to his words and he reaches out for him. With a sad smile, his father dips to press a rarely given kiss to the top of his head. “I trust you Sam. You’ll do what’s right.” As he turns his hand grasp Dean’s elbow and holds him steady. “You look after your brother you hear?”

“Yes sir,” Dean nods and answers, and Sam thinks it’s probably instinct when that command is given. He can think of more than a dozen times their father has parted with those same words. “What’s the rush?” Dean adds, which is not normal but only shows how things have changed in their dynamics.

John looks a little thrown for a beat before he’s heading toward the door once more. “I’ve got some things to take care of.” He stops just outside the threshold and turns to look at them both. For just a moment Sam thinks he’s going to say something, the words seem to dance along the tip of his tongue, before he nods once and disappears down the hall.

Dean turns to him with a sigh and sets the coffee cups on the hospital table. “What was he saying? Before I came in?”

The words don’t make sense to Sam, not even in the slightest, and he’s not very certain what sharing them with his brother might mean. So, along with a dozen other thoughts, he stuffs them away for later consideration and shakes his head, “Nothing really. Did you say pastries?”

There’s a moment where Dean opens his mouth to start a sentence, even makes the first beginning sounds of his name, but the words seem to U-turn before they come out and the ending result sounds something like, “Sa-yeah. Donut or muffin?”

Sam settles on the muffin and smiles at his brother softly.

*

The hospital doesn’t release Sam for another week with strict instructions on how often to take his medicine, and a long list of things he should refrain from doing for six to eight weeks. Dean nods and takes all his words in, knowing more often than not he’ll be the one to ensure his brother follows the rules.

Dean helps Sam into the passenger seat, despite his brother insisting he’s _fine_ , and savors the moment of sliding behind the wheel of the Impala with a wicked grin. “You know, technically this was supposed to be my car.”

“Yeah well, technically you leaving wasn’t part of the plan.” Sam returns and Dean watches the quick flash of regret after the words leave his mouth. “Dean…”

He holds up a hand and shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it, I kind of expect remarks like that every now and then. Now come on, let’s get you home and pray my boss is in a forgiving mood.”

Sam sucks in a quick breath before grimacing. “You didn’t call him?”

“Oh I did, he knows what’s going on, I’m just joking.” Dean snorts and guides the Impala out of the hospital parking lot and down the street. “Big baby.”

“Ass,” Sam shifts on the seat, rolling his body so he’s mostly slumped on Dean’s side, legs stretched out in front of him. “Gonna sleep.” He mumbles as he nuzzles his head into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean drops a quick kiss to the top of Sam’s head before focusing his attention on the road ahead of them.

*

As it turns out, Dean enjoys having a second person – his brother, his _lover_ – living at his place more than he could have realized. The first few days are just slightly awkward, both boys step around each other as they try to fall into some type of natural groove. And there’s always a moment each night when they climb into bed and he shifts to throw an arm over the man, that he holds his breath and waits for rejection. Sam never sends him away though, never flinches or rolls his back to him. Instead he smiles softly and shifts a little closer.

At some point during the second week Dean stops noticing the awkward moments, or maybe they’ve just faded away. They work around each other just like they had before, falling easily into the step of familiarity despite their extended separation. Dean makes Sam breakfast before he goes to work in the morning, laying out his pain meds beside a glass of orange juice. Sam never fails to have dinner ready just as Dean gets home and it’s nice to not be reduced to bags of popcorn and beer.

Dean tells Sam about his day, about the detailing he’s been asked to do on a friend’s car and how he has a secret sort of passion for the artwork. Sam tells him how MTV is like really bad crack and the Food Network can provide hours of entertainment if you don’t mind being hungry for most of it. And his mild obsession turns out beneficial for the both, since Sam’s taken to jotting down recipes and walking the two blocks to the grocery store for ingredients, just to get out of the apartment each day. He mostly makes meals by Rachel Ray, says she’s got a certain level of spunk that he appreciates. At this Dean rolls his eyes because the word spunk never fails to make Sam giggle like a twelve year old, lighting up his face in a way Dean hasn’t seen since before the boy hit puberty and started really understanding how cold the world was.

It’s all so _normal_ , and Dean has to fight off the urge to look over his shoulder for whatever’s going to happen to throw it into the familiar chaos. There’s always something it seems, and Dean can’t allow himself to believe that he and Sam can have this happiness for any extended period of time. It’s just not the Winchester way. There’s always a monster, or a misunderstanding, that shakes the ground and topples the careful balanced structure of their life.

Only after four weeks, a solid month living together in almost normality – if you consider the whole, sharing long intense kisses and, heated strokes of fingers along flesh with your brother normal – there is nothing. Halfway through the fourth week Bobby shows up towing the GTO behind his truck, which makes Dean a little sad because he was quite content using the Impala for awhile, and hadn’t even realized how much he missed the car before now.

When he steps inside the apartment, Bobby and Sam have already started dinner and Dean grumbles good-naturedly at them. “Thanks for waiting for me assholes.” He chuckles and kicks his shoes across the room, dropping heavily into the chair. “What’s on the menu today Sammy?”

“Spinach and mushroom stuffed chicken breasts with chicken rice,” Sam grins widely and Dean snorts.

“When did you learn how to cook boy?” Bobby asks with a curious half smile, glancing between the two and looking as if he’s relieved to see them getting along so well.

Dean figures it’s probably part of the reason Bobby made the trip in the first place instead of waiting until Sam and Dean could pick up the vehicle themselves. Acting on their father’s request to check in on them. “Sam’s been watching Food Network, learning all the important things about life. He’s the perfect little house wife.” Dean reaches out to rub his brother’s hair fondly, turning it to a sloppy ruffle when Sam catches his eyes and realizes with a start that the touch might be seen as too affectionate in Bobby’s eyes.

“Jerk,” Sam huffs with a faint chuckle and tucks into his meal.

They eat in companionable silence for awhile and Dean considers the right way to question Bobby’s motives. The man may be a good friend of his, but Dean knows better than to get on his bad side for any reason, and prying into his business is one of those things Bobby isn’t very keen on. Luckily the man approaches the subject before Dean can make his brain explode with overexertion.

“Either of you boys heard from your daddy recently?” He draws out the words, laying on his accent thick, making the casual question _too_ casual.

Dean and Sam share a look before shaking their heads in unison. “Not since the hospital,” Sam chews a piece of chicken between his teeth, flicks his tongue out along his lips slowly. The action sparks up fairly inappropriate thoughts in Dean’s mind and he shoves them forcefully away. What he needs is Sam’s ribs to finish healing so they can do more than blow jobs and jack each other off. Dean needs a good lay. And to shove the thoughts a bit deeper, since clearly it didn’t work before.

Bobby hums in thought, slicing cleanly through the meat on his plate and take a large bite. It’s not until after he swallows that he says any more. “Called him about a case a few weeks ago and he hasn’t gotten back to me.”

“Must be in the middle of things,” Sam shrugs. “It’s not that rare. He’s been MIA a lot the past year or so. I get his voicemail more often than not when I try to call.” Dean simply shrugs and slides a fork full of rice in his mouth. He doesn’t need to tell either of them that he never tries to call.

They fall into silence, only this time it’s a lot less comfortable. Dean doesn’t have to be a hunter to know something’s amiss. “What’s up Bobby? You think Dad’s in trouble.”

“Hard to say,” Bobby lifts a shoulder only to drop it heavily. Obviously whatever isn’t being said is going to remain just that, unsaid, and Dean can’t resist the hard roll of his eyes. Fucking hunters and their secrets.

That is, until Sam’s curiosity gets the best of him and he inhales slowly, saying on the exhale. “What are you thinking Bobby? Do you know something we don’t know?” He doesn’t press any more – thankfully – and they once more let silence hang around them.

It’s not until the food from his plate is gone that Bobby considers them both with eyes verging on sadness. “I’m sure you both are aware of what led your dad to this life. How the death of your mom changed things for him.” They both nod and Dean sets down his fork, pushing away what’s left of his chicken and rice. He thinks about the mother he only _just_ had the chance to know, and the sinking in his gut is too familiar. “Your dad never got over that. Always kept an eye out for what could have done that to her.”

Sam pulls in a sharp breath and he stares owlishly at Bobby. Dean is the one who voices the connections they both have already made. “You think dad found… you think he’s trying to kill what killed…”

“I didn’t say that.” Bobby shakes his head and pulls off his hat, scrubbing his head with calloused fingers before replacing it and leaning forward onto forearms resting on the table. “I just think he’s been trackin’ it pretty heavy. Maybe he got a whiff of something. Seems like whatever did that… well… it’s gotta be something pretty vile. Not completely sure your dad knows what he’s getting into.”

This time the silence is heavy and intense, it lays across Dean’s shoulders like a boulder. It’s the thing Dean’s been looking over his shoulder for. “Should we try and track him down? Try and stop him before he gets in over his head?” Dean’s surprised that he asked the question and, if the look on their faces is any indication, both Sam and Bobby are as equally surprised. “What? We may have our issues but he’s still my _dad_ and I’m not going to let him go off and get himself killed if there’s something I can do to stop it.”

Sam smiles and looks down at his food, pushing up to gather their plates. His side lingers against Dean’s frame for a moment too long and Dean understands that Sam is glad to hear those words leave his lips. Bobby reclines back in the chair. “I don’t think there’s any finding your dad if he doesn’t want to be found. But I’m gonna check out a few leads. I’ll let you know if there’s anything that either of you can do to help.”

Dean nods, glancing over at Sam setting the dishes in the sink, and pushes up to gather the remaining food from the table. He’s struck for a moment of how odd the whole scene must look should someone be observing from the outside, but he can’t put a name to it so instead he pulls open the fridge and peers at the beers inside. “Beer?”

“Wish I could, but I gotta get back on the road,” Bobby rises and pulls his coat from the back of the chair. “How you feelin’ Sam? Ribs healin’ up alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods and leans a hip against the counter, reaching out to turn off the water. “It’s been good to be here, take some down time to regroup.”

Bobby casts his eyes between the two and nods. “Good. Good… so, you think you’ll be getting back out there soon? Far as I know that case in Colorado still needs to be taken care of.”

Dean busies himself with twisting off the top of the beer bottle, resolutely not looking at Sam. After a few beats in which Sam opens the dishwasher and starts piling things inside, his brother offers a casual, “Been thinking about it.”

“Okay.” Bobby heads for the door and Dean sets his beer down harder on the counter than completely necessary. “Well, I’ll be in touch soon. Thanks for dinner Sam, it was real good.”

“Drive safe Bobby,” Sam calls as goodbye and Dean only waves, watches Bobby walk out the door, dragging the almost established normality out with him.

*

Sam estimates that he’s been laying in the dark for the past hour or so, which means Dean has been in the bathroom for just a little more than that. At first the shower had been running, but it has long since turned off and Sam can’t even begin to imagine what his brother is doing in there. Of course, it hits him after a while that Dean’s probably waiting for him to fall asleep. Which means something is definitely wrong.

He pretends to be asleep when Dean comes into the room a little later, forces himself to breathe evenly in and out as the bed dips and he’s hit with the sudden wave of Dean’s shampoo. The muscles in his shoulders tense, waiting for the usual drape of the man’s arm over him, already prepared to slide into the rapidly growing familiarity of the curve of his brother’s body. When it doesn’t come after several long moments, he speaks.

“So you know, I’ve been thinking…” Over all it’s really not the best way to begin this conversation, and Dean starts a little, obviously surprised he’s still up.

“Sam, we can’t go look for dad. You heard Bobby and you know it’s true, there’s no finding him when he doesn’t want to be found,” Dean recovers quickly and Sam feels him roll, tilts his head to stare at the back of Dean’s head.

Slowly he slides forward, molding his body to fit perfectly along the man’s back. “That’s not what I was going to say.” He loops his arm across Dean’s chest, pulling him snug against him. “I’ve been thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to give up hunting for awhile.” He breathes into his brother’s ear, pausing to gauge the sharp inhale. “Maybe only do it as a side thing, to help someone out every now and then or if Bobby asks. I mean, if you’d be alright having me here.”

In a true show that Dean has not completely out of touch with his training, Sam suddenly finds himself pinned back to the bed, quick flash of pain stabbing through his chest as he stares up into his brother’s dark eyes. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do.” Sam whispers, not allowing the flicker of pain to cross his expression. It fades quickly, overthrown by the almost instant flare of heat in his groin. “Wouldn’t say it otherwise.”

Dean smashes their lips together too forcefully and for a stretch of time there’s too much teeth and tongue, but it’s more intense than any kiss Sam has yet to share with his brother. As if his words have unlocked some secret thing inside Dean that can no longer be held back. He distantly wonders if this will change everything about them, if Sam has signed them up for a fate he hadn’t necessarily meant he’d give it up _forever_. After all, you never knew what was out there in the shadows, biding its time.

Sam decides to screw logic for a while and relish in the feel of Dean’s heat over him. Sex is on the list of things Sam’s supposed to avoid doing for six to eight weeks, and no matter how much he badgers and prods, he can’t seem to get his brother to cave on it. So he settles for the next best thing, which happens to be the quick slide of their cocks together.

When Dean’s fist slips between them and fingers curl around them both, Sam moans and thrusts up and forward, seeking more. Dean’s lips kiss fire along his collar bone, hovering over Sam’s skin as he whispers. “What about what you said to Bobby?”

Sam groans this time and lifts his head to peer down at his brother. “Seriously dude? Can we _not_ talk about Bobby during this?”

Dean chuckles in response and squeezes their cocks together tightly, twisting his wrist as he drags upwards. “Alright but I thought you liked it kinky.”

“Shut. Up.” Sam hisses and rolls his hips forward, begging for more with the action.

Dean quickens his strokes, leaning a little too heavily against Sam’s chest and making the boy flinch. “Shit.” Dean gasps as he tries to push him, crashing their hips together roughly.

It’s a little awkward, but mostly hot, and Sam snorts and moans at the same time, torn between squeezing his eyes shut and staring up at his brother, just to watch the flicker of desire across his features. When Dean dips down to seal their lips together, thrusting his tongue inside his mouth repeatedly, Sam settles on letting his eyes drift close naturally.

They come together a few minutes later, lips breaking on gasps. Sam thinks Dean’s face when he comes is probably the best thing he’s ever seen, so he peels his eyes open, riding out his own orgasm as he watches his brother’s dance across his features. “Dean…” Sam drags out the name, telling his brother just how much he loves him without saying the words.

Dean rolls off him a moment later, snatching at the towel he’d dropped before climbing into the bed and uses it to clean them both. He shifts and gathers Sam into his arms, pressing a kiss along his temple. “Yeah, I know.” He says with a tired smile. “Didn’t hurt you too bad?”

“Mm’good,” Sam mumbles and shifts into him. And he is. Good. Probably better than he can ever remember being in his entire life. This is right, in its own twisted sort of way, and Sam decides he’s going to take it for all it’s worth.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam is fourteen years old his older brother leaves, giving up the life of a hunter. Ten years later they meet again by chance and everything changes. Dean's not the person Sam remembers and Sam's not quite ready to let someone in.

John Winchester loves his sons more than anything else in the entire world. No matter the paths he’s taken, he’s always thought of them, tried to protect them in the only way he knew how. Sometimes, when a hunts not going the way it should, when his life is on the line, John has flashes of moments where he _knows_ he hasn’t done enough, where he wishes he had the chance to go back and change it all. But when it matters most, when it boils down to the very core of things, John will sacrifice his life to save them.

The warehouse is dark and dirty, the sound of water dripping echoing along the hollow expanse of this interior. John pulls the revolver from his waist band, thumb dragging down the hammer so the gun is cocked and ready to go. It’s with an almost resigned fate that he drags his eyes along the empty space, waiting for the creatures he knows are watching.

“I’m here aren’t I?” he hollers, throwing both arms up in the air. “Can’t you at least have the dignity to come out and face me like a man? Or are demons too chicken shit?”

“My, my John, you’d think I’d done something to offend you,” the man who steps from the shadows is older than John had anticipated. His hairline is receding far back across his forehead and the lines on his face are deep and worn with signs of many years gone by. “I take it that’s the gun you think you’re going to use to kill me?”

“I’m not letting you hurt my family any longer,” John growls and pulls the weapon up, aiming it at his forehead. He’s distinctly aware of the sudden appearance of two younger demons on either side of him, crouched in a ready stance for their leader’s instructions.

The demon clicks his tongue in disappointment and stuffs his hands in his pockets, beginning to pace a few steps one way, a few steps back. “And you think killing me will stop this? It’s my project John and I’ve put it into motion. The only way it’s stopping is if I say so.”

John considers the words for a moment, eyes darting between the demons as he calculates the possibilities of escaping the situation. It doesn’t seem very hopeful, and John has a distinct moment of hearing Bobby’s warning about rushing into things too quickly. “And how would I go about getting you to make it stop?”

“What an interesting question.” Stopping in his steps, the demons turns to John and grins. “Have I introduced myself? Gee I’m awful rude. My name is Azazel. But then, you probably already knew that.” He shrugged and slid forward slightly. “Are you offering me a trade John Winchester?”

John’s heart lurches and he shifts his stands, curling his finger around the trigger on instinct. “What sort of trade?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Azazel rolls his eyes and sighs. “I’m again disappointed. You know, I don’t know what all those boys downstairs are talking about, you’re really not _that_ big a threat.”

“I could kill you if you’d prefer?” John fixes his shoulders, letting an eye fall closed to aim dead center in the demon’s forehead.

“Now now, no need to be hasty,” Azazel slides back and holds up both hands to halt the demons on either side of John when they lurch forward. “I’m not the one who’s going to need to die to make this work. This is how the trade works John. One thing for another. I’m offering this – Sam.”

“Sam?” John hisses and casts his eyes into the darkness behind Azazel, worried for one terrifying moment that the demon had somehow managed to capture his son and is holding him there.

Azazel catches the look and chuckles. “He’s not _here_. No, I imagine he and Dean are enjoying their time together…” there’s something about the way the demon smirks that churns John’s stomach unpleasantly. “You know what your son is John. Or, what he will be at least. Now, what are you willing to offer to make that go away?”

“This is the colt,” John holds up the gun, wishing he could just pull the trigger and kill the bastard that’s responsible for the loss of his wife. For the life he’d never meant for either of his children to have to live. “It’s the only thing that can kill you and you can have it if you don’t touch Sam.”

“Not good enough.” Azazel shakes his head. “It puts a real kink in my plans, should I not touch dear little Sammy, a gun that can kill me isn’t going to pass. But you know what would…”

A slow and steady sigh falls from John’s lips and he wonders if this is the moment his life has always been leading up to. The ultimate sacrifice to stop something that could harm his boys. Just as Mary had sacrificed herself trying to save Sam, so would he. “Alright. My life and the colt and you don’t touch Sam. You leave him be. Whatever this sick plan is you don’t bring him into it.”

“Deal.” Azazel’s lips pull up in a bright grin and he steps forward, holding out his hand. “One little shake and this will all be finalized.”

“Can I just…” John pulls out the cell phone from his pocket. “I need to call my sons and tell them…” What? It’s not like he could tell them what was happening, why he was doing this. “I need to make one phone call,” he says, one hand extended to the demon slightly.

Azazel snatches his hand and shakes. “Just to seal the deal of course. Make your phone call, we’ll be right here.”

John turns from him and walks a few steps away, knowing they’ll be listening no matter what, but still feeling the need for some privacy. He dials the first contact on the list and waits for the gruff hello. “Bobby?”

“John? What’s going on? I’ve been calling for weeks.” Bobby sounds understandably upset and John sighs. Nothing like guilt the moment before you die.

“Look, I need you to tell Sam and Dean something. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“You just…” John cast a glance back at the three watching demons. “Tell ‘em I love them. Tell ‘em… I’m sorry, that I wasn’t there more. That I didn’t give ‘em the life they deserved, okay?”

“John…” Bobby’s tone is wary, and he knows his friend understands the weight of the words. There’s no telling what will happen once he’s dead and he needs to ensure someone’s going to take care of the little things, like his body. The idea of a demon using it as fleshy meat suit was worse than the idea of spending the rest of eternity in hell.

“See ya ‘round Bobby.” John sighs and pulls the phone from his ear, setting it down on the cold cement but not turning it off. His jacket joins the device and he turns to face the demons once more, crossing to them in five short steps. “Alright. I’m ready.”

Azazel’s grin is bright and pleased as he lifts a hand. “Good.”

“Just,” John closes his eyes, wondering if dying is going to hurt as much as living can sometimes. “I have your word? You’re not going to touch Sam?”

“John, don’t call me a liar.” Azazel growls and his hand comes up to curl around the colt. John lets his eyes open and he stares at the demon for the last few seconds of his life, barely registering the last words he’ll ever hear. “I promise _I_ will not lay finger on Sam.”

*

“Dean! Stop it!” Sam cackles loudly, shoving at his brother’s searching fingers. “I swear to _god_ I’m going to kick your ass so hard you’re not gonna be able to sit for a week.”

“Mmm, isn’t that what you said about fucking me last night?” Dean chuckles and digs his fingers hard into his brother’s sides. “Empty threats Sam. I have yet to see a follow through.”

“You suck ass.” Sam groans and kicks at him, affectively sending him toppling off the mattress and clattering onto the floor. “You suck _my_ ass.”

“And you liked it.” A heavy laugh falls from his lips as Dean pushes up off the ground and rubs the back of his neck. “Damn boy, if you weren’t so ticklish this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

Sam huffs and rolls over on the mattress. “If you learned how to keep your hands to yourself once in awhile…”

“Don’t hear you complaining about _that_ very often,” Dean snorts and heads down the hallway, intent on grabbing a couple of beers for the both of them. He stops when his cell phone rings, glancing at the caller ID. “Hey it’s Bobby!” He calls to his brother, flipping open the device and bringing it to his ear. “Hey Bobby it’s been a few weeks, how’s it going man?”

“Dean…” Bobby’s voice is thick and sad and Dean’s stomach lurches, his heart picks up speed. Something’s happened.

His eyes flicker up to Sam’s, watching the smile fall from the man’s face as he takes in Dean’s stony look. “What’s going on Bobby? What’s the matter?”

“It’s your dad.”

Bobby doesn’t need to say anymore. Dean knows exactly what the words mean. This isn’t an injury, there’s no fixing it, three little words and Dean _knows_.

“Fuck.” The phone falls from his hand.

Sam’s across the room, snatching it up, hollering at Dean to tell him what’s going on but Dean can’t get his tongue to work, can’t get his brain to click together consonances and vowels to make words. He stumbles to the couch, vaguely registering Sam’s question into the phone, the long beat of silence.

All Dean can think of is that one moment when he met his dad’s eyes. _we might as well have been orphans_. He wonders if the words ever haunted his father the way they haunt him. Wonders if the man ever knew that Dean never really meant them.

It occurs to him that Sam is yelling, cursing at the phone or Bobby or the world for being so cruel and unfair, Dean has no clue. And he thinks maybe he should get up, should go over and comfort his brother but he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Sam crumbles to the floor and sobs like Dean has never seen before, and it takes Dean touching his own face to realize he’s crying too. Their father is dead. Their world has shifted in a sudden one hundred and eighty degree turn and all Dean can think of to do is leave.


End file.
